The Hunger Games: Madge's Story
by miss.hegde
Summary: She has grown up watching her mother in pain, tormented by the death of her sister in the Hunger Games. But she believes that her aunt didn't just die. She was murdered by the Capitol, as is every tribute, every year. She believes that there is only one way to bring peace to her family. And that is by bringing the Capitol down. Here is Madge Undersee, the Girl on Fire. The rebel.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

I wake up suddenly, hearing a scream. I sit upright on my bed. For a moment my eyes scan the darkness, my body tense and alert. Then I notice the lights outside my room, in the hall. I relax. It must have been my mother screaming; she must have had nightmares again.

I lie down again, and pull the blankets snugly over myself. It is easy to tell myself to calm down, but it is difficult to actually do it. How can I, when my mother is scarred for life? How can I, when I feel useless every night? I cannot help her; no one can.

My father, the mayor, told me that when he married my mother, her headaches actually reduced. For a few years they both thought she had recovered completely, that she was free from her post traumatic stress.

Until I was born.

I am the spitting image of my mother's twin sister. The twin sister who died when she was my age. The twin sister who was murdered by the Capitol.

Anger jolts through my body, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

My mother and my aunt were not identical twins, but somehow I ended up looking a lot like Aunt Maysilee. Dad says it's rare, but it happens. Sometimes a child resembles a relative more than a parent.

It is too difficult for my mother to look at me every day and not remember her dead sister. She loves me, and I know that. I know that my father has tried every medication available in our district to rid my mother of her illness.

But I also know that the only thing that can ever bring my happy-go-lucky mother back is the downfall of the Capitol.

And this year, I'm going to make that happen.

* * *

The next morning, I wake up early, feeling uneasy. I can't understand why until I remember what day it is: Reaping day.

To me, this is the worst day of the year, ever year. I'm sure every single citizen in the districts feels the same way. Nobody could like reaping day, not even the men who are in on the betting. Even they can't be that sadistic.

I dress quickly in some pants and a brown jacket. It is quite expensive, but months of hunting have worn it down. I am glad. It seems more comfortable now.

When I walk into the kitchen, I find my father dozing at the dining table, his head between his hands. I'm not surprised. He's been doing this every day, ever since I started hunting. He wakes up early, earlier than I do, and waits for me here. But he falls asleep before I come downstairs. He is a tired man, my father.

I grab an apple from the fruit basket and bite into it. It must be sweet – Gale's apples are always sweet – but today it tastes like paper.

"Dad," I say softly, giving him a tight hug. He awakens, looking around for a second before catching my eye. "Morning," he mumbles. "Are you going already?" He sounds unhappy.

"I'll be back early today," I answer. "Have you seen my boots?"

"Near the door, I'm assuming," he replies groggily.

I locate them and put them on. I run my hands over the supple leather once, remembering the day I had meekly asked my father for hunting boots.

"Why would you want something like that?" he'd asked, chuckling. He had been eating strawberries that day; I still remember.

"Because Katniss and Gale are going to teach me to hunt."

My father had turned abruptly to stare at me, wide-eyed. I was the mayor's daughter, after all. Nobody would have expected me to learn how to hunt. They thought I didn't need to. But I knew better.

"Do you have to go?" he asks me now, and I snap out of my reverie. "I know what you're planning, you know," he adds carefully. I look at him, and a smile eases its way into my face. "What am I planning, Dad?"

His face tenses. He shakes his head, sighing. "Never mind. Go, then. Just be back soon."

I nod at him. Then I am out of the front door and on my way to the woods.

* * *

I pass the meadow, where there are never any flowers blooming, and find myself in front of the fence that surrounds District 12. It is supposed to be buzzing with electricity, twenty-four hours a day. But in a place like this, where two meals a day is considered a luxury, nobody cares about a stupid fence.

My father knows about its many holes, but he does nothing. Why would he? He may not need to depend on the woods to survive, but most of his citizens do. He is a good man.

I know that I should climb the fence quickly and get it over with, but the thought of putting my hands on the barbed wire scares me. What if I get a cut? It has happened twice before, and though I pretended then that the blood was no big deal, it scared me to death.

How am I going to survive even a day in the Games? I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the fear, and crawl underneath a gaping hole in the wires. Thankfully, none of the sharp edges touch me.

I jog into the heart of the woods, and find the hollow log where I keep my knife. Actually, it's Gale's knife; he just lets me borrow it. Sometimes I think he does it against his will. He doesn't seem to like me that much.

My knife is there, but the bow and sheath of arrows that usually accompanies it is missing. So Katniss has already been here.

Hunting is illegal in District 12. Actually, it's illegal in all of Panem. Maybe not in the Capitol, but then again, why would they need to hunt?

But if you want to survive, you have to grit your teeth and make your way to the woods every morning and search for food, hoping you don't get caught.

That's what Gale and Katniss do. They hunt and gather enough food for their families, sometimes extra so they can trade it at the black market for necessities. They were shocked when I asked to join them a few months ago. I think Gale wanted to turn me down, but Katniss stopped him.

Katniss Everdeen is probably the only friend I have. Most people either avoid me because I'm the mayor's daughter, or befriend me for that sole reason. But Katniss sees me as myself, Madge Undersee, just a simple girl trying to lead a happy life. Just like everybody else.

I respect Katniss a lot. She is brave, much braver than I could ever hope to be. If my family members were starving, I would never be able to provide for them all by myself. But that is what she does, every single day.

I conceal the knife in my hand and make my way to our usual spot. I climb the hills to a rock ledge overlooking a valley. It is concealed by berry bushes, making it the perfect hiding place. I feel at home here; I feel happy in these woods. I'm not sure why. Maybe because in the woods, I am not just a rich girl – I am a rich girl with a plan.

Gale and Katniss are already here, busy talking. They are eating berries, and I hear laughter. I have never seen them laugh anywhere else, or with anyone else.

They could pass for siblings, both of them. They have that Seam look. Olive skin, grey eyes, black hair. But more than siblings, they look like a team. They _are_ a team.

I stand still for a minute, wondering if I should even disturb them. Maybe I should just head back.

But then a twig cracks underneath my foot, and Gale's sharp ears turn in my direction. He gives me a glance and looks away again, shaking his head. He's probably thinking how clumsy I am. Katniss smiles at me.

"Hi," I say, running up to join them. She pats a spot on the ground next to her, so I sit down. None of us says anything for a while.

Then Gale speaks. "I saved some berries for you." He hands me a couple of blackberries, and I smile weakly at him. He just nods tensely, and I shrug. Gale is not my friend, I think. He is my teacher. He has been helping me build snares, even though I refused to tell him why I wanted to learn.

I pop the berries into my mouth. It feels like an explosion of sweetness on my tongue. This is another thing I love about the woods. Every single one of my senses is heightened here.

"We could do it, you know." Gale speaks so softly I can barely hear him. Then again, maybe these words are not meant for me.

"What?" Katniss asks, but I already know what he means. I have been wondering the same thing for years.

"Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I –" he looks at me sharply, almost angrily, and I look away. "You and I, we could make it," he says.

Katniss doesn't say anything. I frown. That isn't what I've been thinking, at all. I haven't thought once about escaping. I have thought about rebelling.

"If we didn't have so many kids," he adds quickly.

Gale and Katniss don't actually have any kids together. They might, in the future, but right now, he's talking about their siblings. Katniss has a younger sister, Prim. She is beautiful and innocent, just like a rose. I think it might be her first reaping today. She must be terrified.

Gale has two brothers and a sister, all younger to him. He's the man of the household. His father was blown to bits in a mine explosion many years ago. Katniss' father died the same way. They've been supporting their families ever since.

"I never want to have kids," Katniss mumbles. She looks fierce as she says it. It is because of the Games, I realise.

"I might. If I didn't live here," says Gale.

"But you do," she snaps back, looking annoyed.

"Forget it," he finally says. There is an edge to his voice, which we both hear, but a blush on his face, which only I notice.

I wonder if Katniss has ever noticed the way Gale looks at her. It is the same way my father looks at my mother - with respect, with love, and with need.

But even if she notices, she does nothing about it. She has more important things on her mind, like keeping her family healthy and happy. But Gale is a part of her family, isn't he? I wish she would realise that.

Gale is a good-looking fellow. He is strong and intelligent, and almost all the girls in school have a crush on him. They whisper about him, sometimes to me. They see me talking to him, and they pester me to tell them what kind of girl he likes.

But the only girl Gale has eyes for is Katniss.

There is an awkward silence now that neither of them wants to break. So I do, instead. "What are we doing today?" I ask.

Katniss shrugs. Gale says, "Let's fish at the lake. Something nice for tonight." His face darkens. Maybe he is thinking about the reaping. Of course he is thinking about it.

I do not want to think about tonight. After the reaping, it's celebration time in the district for all those families whose children have been spared for at least another year.

Unfortunately, my family will not be celebrating tonight.

* * *

Fishing works well for them. They catch a dozen fish, collect some greens, and a bag of strawberries that will undoubtedly go to my family. Everybody knows how much my father loves strawberries.

I don't do much. I want to, but I can't. I find myself shivering even though it's a warm day. My hands refuse to move, and the knife feels like a dead weight in my palm.

"Are you taking the day off?" Gale asks me, looking sour. I don't blame him. An extra pair of hands helps to bring more food. But I can't bring myself to do it today.

"I'm scared," I tell them, voicing my thoughts for the first time in months. "I'm scared for the reaping."

Katniss pats my shoulder awkwardly, and I look away from her. Gale rolls his eyes. I know what he is thinking. I know what they are both thinking.

"Why are you scared?" he says, shaking his head furiously. "You have no reason to be scared. How many times is your name in today, huh? Five? I had that many entries when I was twelve."

"Shut up, Gale," Katniss tells him sternly, and he does. She has that effect on him, I've noticed.

"It's okay," I say, nodding at her. She looks at me sadly.

I know he doesn't mean to hurt me. The reaping system _is_ unfair, so of course he's angry. The more times you put your name in, the more tesserae you get. That means more grain and oil for your family. Of course the poor end up having more entries.

The reaping is open for children aged between twelve to eighteen years, and the older you get, the more times your name is entered. I'm sixteen years old, and I have never needed any tesserae, so I have five entries to my name.

We walk out of the woods in silence, and all the while I'm thinking about the reaping and what I'm going to do. I shudder involuntarily again, and sigh. If just the thought of the Games scares me this much, then how will I ever survive the real thing?

Once we're in the meadow, I turn to Gale. I thrust some coins into his hands for the strawberries, and he hands me the pouch. "Thanks," I say. "My father will really appreciate it."

"You're welcome," he says, his face expressionless.

Katniss bids me goodbye and we go our separate ways – my house is located in the richer parts of town, whereas Gale and Katniss live in the Seam, full of coalminers and dust. But it's their home.

* * *

When I walk into my house, the smell of lunch wafts into my nose. The cook is preparing vegetable soup and lamb chops for lunch.

"For dinner, your favourite chicken!" he announces with a grin, when I enter the kitchen.

"Thank you," I tell him, although all I'm thinking is that I might not be able to taste it at all.

"I didn't have enough time to prepare any dessert for the afternoon, though," he adds in a loud voice, as Dad walks inside the room.

"Oh?" I say, my lips breaking into a wide grin.

"What is it?" My father asks, giving me a hug. He is relieved that I made it back from the woods. I wonder why he worries so much.

"Dad," I explain quickly, "Mr. Farina hasn't prepared anything sweet for lunch yet, and you know how much Mom loves cake. Could I maybe swing by the baker's house and see if they have anything for us?" My tone is hopeful; I hope he doesn't notice.

Dad has a knowing look on his face, and it makes me turn red. "Of course, go. Get me some sweet bread, too," he adds, handing me some money from his pocket.

"Thanks, Dad!" I say happily, and as I pass the cook, Mr. Farina, I wink at him. He winks back.

I don't walk to the baker's house; I skip all the way there. As I do, all thoughts about the reaping escape my mind. It's not just because I love bread and cake – I do, of course, but there's something else, too. Or rather, someone else.

The bakery smells like fresh bread and frosting. I inhale sharply, and I can almost taste the pink frosting in my mouth.

Mrs. Mellark, the baker's wife, looks at me as I enter. She grins. "Madge! Oh, so lovely to see you!" she exclaimed, walking briskly towards me from the counter. "How is your father?" she asks, her voice brimming with interest. Fake interest.

"He's great," I say chirpily, in a voice equally as fake as hers. She doesn't care about my father; she cares about the mayor's interest in her bakery.

"How can we help you today?" she asks. "Oh, I bet your father wants some more sweet bread, doesn't he? What about some dried fruit and nut loaves, too? Oh, and we also..." But I'm already tuning her out, because at the counter stands the reason I walk in here once a week, sometimes even twice a week.

Peeta Mellark, the baker's son.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Some sweet bread will be great, thanks," I tell Mrs. Mellark quickly, hoping it will keep her busy for a while. They keep the sweet bread in the back, so she'll have to go inside to get it.

"I'll get you the fresh ones," she says. I raise my eyebrow, and she bites her lip. "I mean... they're all fresh, but I'll get you the best one."

I smile at her. "Thanks, Mrs. Mellark."

She touches my cheek fondly (I have to stop myself from slapping her hand away), and then she bustles off to the back of the bakery, singing a song I've never heard before.

"Madge," Peeta calls out my name, and immense pleasure sweeps over me. Peeta has the most beautiful eyes; they are as blue as the frosting on the blueberry cakes. His hair is blonde and falls in waves over his forehead. My hair is blonde, too, but it is straight and boring. His hair, however, gives him personality.

"Hey," I say, hoping that my voice doesn't sound as shrill as I hear it. "How's it hanging?"

How's it hanging?! I think, shocked at myself. Who even says that?

Peeta chuckles. His laughter is the kind that is infectious. Soon I find myself smiling, too, though I don't even know why. I love that about him.

I love everything about him.

"Things are good," he tells me. He looks pointedly at one of the cakes at the counter, on display today. "I think my frosting skills outdid themselves today. What do you think?"

I follow his gaze and find myself staring at the cake, open-mouthed. It is a beautiful vanilla cake, creamy pink-coloured and smooth. He has decorated it with pink and blue roses, green frosted leaves, rainbow sparkles, and actual strawberries.

"Wait, I want you to take a closer look," he says. He bends down and pulls the cake from its display, placing it in front of my eyes.

I gasp. Now I can see that the cake is not vanilla at all. It is chocolate, but he has painted streaks of white and pink over the base in such a way that it looks like a different flavour altogether. The details are so fine, and so exact, that I find myself looking up at him with awe.

"I hope that means you like it." Peeta grins. "I added the strawberries as an extra touch. For your father, you know."

"This is beautiful," I breathe. "I think it's the best one yet."

"Does that mean you'll take it?"

"Of course!" I say, gushing. "Make more cakes like that and I'll be here every day."

"Finally, I have a reason to bake!" Peeta exclaims, throwing his arms into the air dramatically.

Laughter escapes my mouth, but part of me wonders if that was an attempt at flirting. The thought makes me blush, but then I remember the reaping, and my stupid plan, and that wipes the smile off my face.

Clearing my throat, I say quickly, "Where's your mother, then? I should be leaving. It's almost lunch time."

"She'll be here soon," he mutters. He doesn't like her very much. Neither do I, to be honest. She is pretentious and tiring, and if you take Peeta's bruises into account, she's a bad mother as well.

"I'll pack up your cake," he says. He takes the cake with one arm and unfolds a box with the other.

Peeta is quite strong and muscular. I've seen him lifting heavy sacks of flour many times; he does it like it is no big deal. He is not very tall or extremely attractive, like Gale, but to me, he is handsome.

The first time I had seen Peeta was about four years ago. I was twelve. I had seen him countless times before, of course, but never in the way that I do now. Back then he was just the baker's son. Now he is so much more than that.

It was my twelfth birthday, I remember, and my father took me to the bakery so I could select a cake for myself. It was the first time I had got a chance to pick the cake myself.

"Happy birthday, Madge," Peeta said, and when I looked over to him to say 'thanks', I found myself unable to utter a word. Had I never noticed his defined jaw before? Had I never looked into those blue eyes? Had I never seen him this way before?

Peeta must have assumed I was shy – I am shy – because he didn't say much to me after that.

It took me all the courage I had to go pick up some bread the next day, all by myself. It was so difficult to tell Peeta how much I'd loved the birthday cake, but once I said it, he rewarded me with his smile, and his attention.

Since that day, I've been making up excuses every week to go to the baker's place and get some bread. My father knows that the cook can do the chore, or the maid, but he has never refused to let me go. Perhaps he knows more than he lets on.

Mrs. Mellark finally returns, holding an enormous loaf of sweet bread. "Sorry to have kept you waiting, dear girl," she says, thrusting the loaf into Peeta's hand. "Pack it in a nice box," she tells him curtly. Turning back to me, she adds, "Have a wonderful day, dear. I know it's a difficult day for all our families, but... may luck be with you." She gulps. She is scared, too.

"Thank you." My voice comes out as a whisper, and I feel my throat close up. The clock reads twelve p.m. The reaping is at two. As the minutes pass, I am getting more and more tensed. Worried. Afraid.

Peeta hands me the box. It is bright red and tied with white ribbon, which is made into a bow. It reminds me of one of the reaping dresses I have.

"Happy Hunger Games," he mumbles glumly as I hand him the money.

"May the odds be ever in your favour," I answer stiffly. Neither of us is smiling now, and the bakery no longer feels warm and cozy.

Even the thought of the Hunger Games can do that.

As I walk out of the bakery, I pause and glance back one more time. Mrs. Mellark is cleaning up, ready to close down the shop. Even a woman like her would want some family time before the Games begin.

* * *

I jog all the way to my house, and the first thing I do is hand the sweet bread and the cake to Mr. Farina. His eyes light up when he looks at the cake frosting. Mr. Farina bakes, too, but his frosting is nowhere as good as Peeta's.

"Is this another one of Peeta's masterpieces?" he asks me.

I nod, stifling a giggle. "He prepared it especially for us."

"For you," the cook says, chuckling. He has never asked me about my feelings, nor have I told him. But he has known me since I was a child, and he can read me better than I read myself.

"Come on now, girl, get ready. Go change into one of your pretty dresses."

I look down at my clothes, and that's when I realise that I'm still in my hunting pants and jacket. There is mud on my boots and my hands are grimy. Great. I groan. Now Peeta probably thinks that the mayor's daughter is a complete slob.

"Go on," Mr. Farina ushers me, so I hurry to my room and throw open the closet doors.

Reaping day is the day when most of us dress up in our best clothes. We clean our faces and do our hair. We try to look as presentable as possible. Why, I do not know, but every year I go along with the routine.

What I do know is that I will be going to the Capitol tonight, so I might as well look my best.

I pull a white dress out and lay it on the bed. It is pretty, with lace around the edges and a flowing skirt. It will make me look pure.

I quickly get dressed and put on my white shoes. There is not much time to do my hair, so I quickly tie it in a ponytail with a pink ribbon. It reminds me of the white bow on the cake box. My throat tightens. I will never see that cake box again after tonight.

I eat my lunch in silence. I am usually quiet, but today it is different. My mother must think it is because of the reaping, and she is partly right.

When we're done with the main course, I expect the cook to place the chocolate cake in front of us, but instead we are each given a slice of sweet bread.

"What about the cake?" I exclaim, surprised. "I thought that was today's dessert!"

"I thought we could save it for dinner," my father tells me, his eyes narrow. "As a post-reaping treat."

I look back at him, annoyed. He knows, and he is trying to stop me. He knows that I am going to volunteer, and he is trying to change my mind.

But not even Peeta's cake can help him.

"Great," I reply, forcing a smile on my face. "Let's celebrate tonight with some cake."

Dad's face relaxes. Maybe he thinks he has convinced me. I only hope he doesn't hate me when they call my name on stage and congratulate me for volunteering.

I hope he understands.

"You'll be fine," my mother tells me softly. I turn to look at her. Her eyes are dark, as if there is no light in them, and her cheeks are hollow. But there is a smile on her face, and her fingers clasp mine.

"Okay," is all I can say.

Before we leave for the reaping, my mother takes me into her room and tells me to wait. She rummages in her drawers for something, and then finally turns to me. She holds her palm out.

Resting on it is a gold mockingjay pin.

"Mom?" I say, confused. "What are you doing?"

"Take it," she tells me. "It will look pretty on you."

So I take it, and pin it to my dress. This pin was my aunt's token when she was reaped for the Games. It was given back to my family along with her body after her death.

It is the only part of my aunt I have ever known.

"Let's go," she says. She leads the way towards the front door, but not before stopping at the medicine cabinet to take her headache pills. She does not want to have a migraine attack at the reaping.

Before we leave, I stop to give the cook a hug. "Thank you," I say. "For everything."

He smiles at me, but his eyes show his confusion. He does not think I will be the unlucky one today. Nobody does.

We walk to the square together, as a family. The place is teeming with white-uniformed Peacekeepers today. Usually, they leave us alone. They are supposed to arrest those who hunt illegally, but instead they are Katniss and Gale's best customers. Nobody can blame them. They are hungry, too.

Then we have to part ways. My father must take his seat on stage, and I have to go sign in. My mother will have to stand outside the ropes with the others who are too old to be considered as tributes.

"See you soon," Dad tells me. I nod.

* * *

Once I'm signed in, I move to the front of the roped area, where the rest of the sixteen-year-olds wait. I look around for Katniss, but I don't find her. So I just stand amongst a few of my classmates.

Someone pushes me forward, and I almost trip. There are too many people in the square, and there is not enough space for all of us to stand comfortably. This happens every year, so I am used to it.

I lean down to massage my knee when I spot Peeta standing a few metres away from me with some of his friends. He looks worried. I wish I could console him, I wish I could tell him that there are only five slips of paper with his name on them, and that the odds are definitely in his favour.

But what good will that do? None of us can heave a sigh of relief until District 12's escort, Effie Trinket, reads out the names.

I look up at the stage, which is set in front of the Justice Building. Peacekeepers line the stage, which holds three chairs. Two of them are currently filled by my father and Effie Trinket. The third seat is supposed to be for our District's only living victor, Haymitch Abernathy. Knowing how drunk he can get, I'm not surprised that he isn't here yet.

The clock strikes twelve, and my father gets up from his seat and moves to the podium. He begins to read from a piece of paper. He does this every year. Every year, he has to tell us about the history of our country, Panem.

Panem was supposed to bring peace and prosperity to its citizens. It consisted of a Capitol city and thirteen districts that served the Capitol. But then came the Dark Days, and the uprising of the districts against the government. Twelve were defeated and the thirteenth obliterated. But the deaths of so many district citizens weren't good enough punishment, according to the Capitol.

And that is how they decided to host the Hunger Games, as a reminder that an uprising is never the solution.

Each district must give up one boy and girl, between the ages of twelve and eighteen, to fight to the death in an outdoor arena of any kind over a period of several weeks. The last tribute standing is considered a victor.

This is the 74th year of the games. It is hard to believe that the districts have never once thought about a rebellion since the Dark Days. Yes, we did not succeed then. But that doesn't mean we never will.

My aunt, Maysilee, was the girl tribute for the 50th games. That is how she was murdered by the Capitol. The Games are televised, so my mother would have seen her own sister bleed to death. No wonder she is so troubled.

But we are not supposed to think of the Games as a punishment. It is to be seen as a reality show, as entertainment. Only the Capitol thinks that way, though. For the rest of us, it is torture.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," concludes my father.

I scoff, and heads turn towards me. "Sorry," I mumble. But I do not want to apologize. This is not a time for repentance or thanks. This is the time to rebel.

I'm thinking of my plan to volunteer when the previous victor, Haymitch, stumbles onto the stage. He's saying something, but it is unintelligible, and he finally falls into his chair. In his drunken state, he gives Effie a big hug and she pushes him away.

I roll my eyes. Haymitch was the victor in the same games that took my aunt's life. I can't imagine how he won.

Effie takes a minute to regain her composure, and then she stands in front of the podium. "Happy Hunger Games!" she exclaims in her chirpy Capitol accent. "And may the odds be ever in your favour!"

Her pink hair is slightly off-centre after the hugging. Maybe it's a wig. It must be; why would anyone want to dye their hair that disgusting colour?

As she talks about the so-called beauty of District 12, I close my eyes and start thinking. My plan is stupid. It might not even work. Volunteering to be a tribute, and then starting a rebellion in the Games? There's no chance of that happening, right?

My plan is crazy. It's not going to work. I don't need to risk my life for this. I shouldn't. Maybe I have been training for the Games for the past few months, but even that wouldn't help me survive long enough to spark an uprising. The Games are televised, so my actions will be broadcast across the nation, but if the districts have done nothing for almost a century, how can a skinny blonde girl change their mind?

I will not volunteer, I decide quickly. My life is not worth giving up.

When I open my eyes, Effie is moving towards the glass bowl with the girls' names. "Ladies first!" she announces happily. I wonder if her happiness is fake.

She reaches in, digs her hands deep into the bowl and pulls out a slip of paper. There is pin-drop silence now.

All I'm thinking is, it better not be me. It better not be me, not now when I've changed my mind.

Someone up there seems to have heard my prayers. Because Effie smoothes the slip of paper and reads out the name. "Primrose Everdeen!"

I gasp. Several people do. It is Katniss' sister, the twelve year old girl. It is her first year of reaping and she has been chosen. It can't get worse than that.

I look to my right and finally see Katniss, panic-stricken and terrified. She starts to fall, and a boy from the Seam grips her arm to help her up.

Now Prim is walking towards the stage, her face pale white and her fists stiff. I wipe my palms on my skirt hastily. I already know what is going to happen. Katniss is going to volunteer.

"Prim!" Katniss cries out, her voice strangled. "Prim!" Everybody immediately steps aside to let her pass. Now she is running towards the stage, too.

I have to act fast, I think. Katniss' family depends on her for their survival. Gale might be able to help them, but he has his own family to think of. I imagine the little girl, Prim, lying on the streets, dead. People have died out of starvation before. I have seen their bodies.

Before I even know what I'm doing, I shout, at the top of my voice, "I volunteer!"

Katniss has finally caught up to Prim, and they both freeze. Slowly, everybody turns in my direction. I see a mixture of shock and relief of Katniss' face. Then I blink, and there is only shock.

"I volunteer as tribute," I shout again.

People look at each other, confused. Nobody has volunteered in ages – why would they? The protocol has become rusty. Even Effie is unsure what to do.

"Lovely!" she says finally, as I start walking towards the stage. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one comes forth then we, um..." her voice trails off, and she turns to the mayor. She must not know that he is my father.

I reach Katniss and Prim, and she grabs my arm. Her eyes are damp. I realise that she is crying for me. I nod at her, even smile weakly. She looks away and releases my arm.

"Let it be," Dad finally says. His voice is deep and rumbles. Effie looks at him, hoping that he will add something else, but when he does not, she plasters that fake smile back onto her face.

So I step onto the stage next to Effie. She says, "Bravo! That's the spirit of the games, isn't it? What's your name?"

I gulp. I sneak a glance at my father. He is looking at the ground, clearly holding back tears. A lump comes to my throat suddenly, and I clear my throat. "Madge Undersee."

"Undersee – you're the mayor's daughter!" Effie exclaims, looking pleased. It is considered an interesting turn of events when past victors' or officials' children are reaped. In this case, I volunteered. She must be glad for some action in District 12.

"Yes," I say quickly. Then I stare straight ahead. Something catches my eye. Gale, Katniss and Prim have not moved from near the stage.

"Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute, Madge Undersee!" Effie announces.

Nobody claps, not even the kids from school who think I am a snob, not even the ones who bet on the tributes. They must not understand why I volunteered, but they can see that I didn't do it for glory.

For a minute they are all silent. Then I see that Gale touches the three middle fingers of his left hand to his lips and holds it out to me. Katniss and Prim follow. And then, the entire crowd, in togetherness, uses this beautiful gesture. I have not seen it that much, only during funerals. But it means good-bye to your loved ones.

"Thank you," I mouth to Katniss, and she smiles at me sadly.

I find that tears are now flowing down my cheeks, too, but I don't bother to wipe them. I am emotional, it says. So what? I am a human being.

Haymitch springs up from his seat and staggers towards me. I look at him curiously. "Look at her! Look at this one!" he shouts, throwing his arm around my shoulders. He is heavy, but I stand my ground. "I like her!"

I frown at him. What is he saying? "She has a..." he adds, thinking. He smells like alcohol and vomit. I suppress a gag.

"Spark!" he says finally. "She has a spark. I hope you're not scared of fire!" He shouts, pointing at the cameras.

He is not talking to the audience, I realise. He is challenging the Capitol. All that liquor has brought his real personality to the surface. He is lusting for revenge. He wants to bring the Capitol down. Maybe he could help me.

Before I can say or do anything, he falls off the stage, unconscious. I start, but Effie puts a hand on my shoulder. A few people race towards him with a stretcher and whisk him away.

"What an exciting day!" Effie trills, and I laugh sarcastically. She shoots me a look, but I just shrug at her. I hope the cameras recorded that.

"But there's more excitement to come! Time to choose the boy tribute!"

She plants one hand on her wig, which is on the verge of falling, and picks up a slip of paper from the boys' bowl.

"Peeta Mellark."

I almost fall, but I catch myself in time. Peeta? How can it be him? He's a baker's son; he has never needed tesserae, then how could his name be picked out of thousands?

I had cringed at the thought of never seeing Peeta's cakes again. Now, I realise, he will never bake again. And it is that thought that stops my tears. White-hot fury zips through me, through my blood. I will make them pay for this, I decide. I will bring them down.

Peeta approaches us, looking distraught. He climbs onto the stage steadily and takes his place next to me.

Effie asks for volunteers, but no one steps forward, not even any of Peeta's brothers. One of them is old enough to take his place, but I suppose not everybody thinks like Katniss.

Dad steps forward to read the Treaty of the Treason now. I am not listening. My eyes scan the crowd for my mother, and I find her standing next to some of her friends, looking helpless. My death will surely kill her. I should not have volunteered.

But if I hadn't, then I would have had to watch Katniss and Peeta die on the television. Their deaths would haunt me. It would haunt their families more.

I look at Peeta out of the corner of my eye. He looks steady, but his chest is rising and falling, like he's taking deep breaths to stay calm. Maybe I can bring the Capitol down, but also save him. Maybe he could be this year's victor.

"Shake hands," my father mumbles, and I look at him. Before our eyes meet, Dad walks back to his seat and hangs his head in his hands. Guilt washes over me.

Peeta walks towards me and holds out his hand. But I do not shake it. Instead, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and embrace him. After a moment's hesitation, he does the same.

He smells like flour and sugar, and I inhale the scent sharply.

"You okay?" he mumbles when we break apart.

I notice Effie staring at us, her mouth hanging open. Tributes usually never show friendship, let alone affection. She must think we are crazy.

"No," I tell him.

He sighs. "Me, neither."

I do not want this boy to die. I cannot let him die.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Hey, guys! Thanks for the incredible support. I'm so glad I started writing this fanfic, I have so many ideas in my head. :D_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

The reaping ends with the Capitol anthem and the Peacekeepers escort us into the Justice Building. I've been inside this building a few times before. My father attends all special meetings and ceremonies, and sometimes he is allowed to bring his family.

I'm taken into a room and left alone. The Peacekeepers close the door behind them. The room looks a lot like the inside of my house, with its dark curtains, deep carpets and velvet couches. I could just as easily be sitting in my living room right now; I could be sampling a bit of Peeta's frosting and thinking of playing the piano.

I could have been doing that right now, if I hadn't volunteered.

I sniff. I have never considered myself as emotional, but maybe all these tears were just on the brink, waiting to flow out of me on a really bad day. Today.

I pace around the room, unsure of what is going to happen next. The next hour will be spent saying good-bye to my friends and family. But after that, we will leave for the Capitol on a train... and after a week of tribute prepping and training, the Games will begin.

The door bursts open, and my parents walk in. I am shocked to see my mother standing calmly, her head held high and her eyes bright. I haven't seen her like this – determined – in years.

"Madge," Dad says, enveloping me in a hug. I hug him back and hold on tighter than I ever have before. I don't want to let go, but I must. There isn't much time.

"Madge, I know what you're trying to do," he says quickly, in a low voice.

"How do you know?" I ask him slowly. Does he really know, or is he just trying to find out? I have always suspected that he knows of my plan, but to what extent, I'm not sure.

"Let's see... over the course of the past few months, you've asked me endless questions about the Capitol, the rebellion, your aunt and the President. I've found you loitering around the television every time there's a news bulletin. You've started hunting with your friends, and I doubt you're the sort of girl who would do that for entertainment. You volunteered for a poor child from the Seam even though you didn't need to. I'm your father, Madge. I think all these signs are enough for me to figure out what's going on in your head."

"Now," he continues, before I can speak, "there's nothing I can do to stop you from going now that you're a tribute. But please, for my sake at least," he adds, his voice cracking at last, "please just try to come back home. Please."

I nod feverishly, but I have to drop my gaze. Dad is crying now, and I can't bear to look him in the eye. I am going on a suicide mission, and I haven't thought once about how it will affect my father. He may be strong, but he is still human. I feel ashamed of how selfish I am.

"I'll try my best, Dad," I whisper finally, my eyes on his reaping day suit. "I can hunt now, you know." I laugh nervously. He wipes my tears with his bear-like hand, and nods. "Thank god for that."

"Also," he adds after some thought, "don't try to spark a rebellion too soon, they'll just kill you off the moment you step into the arena. Don't –"

"Dad," I say warily, remembering where we are. What we've said already is enough to arrest us – probably. I look around the room carefully. The Capitol is always tracking our every move, listening to every word we say. I can't trust them here, or anywhere, for that matter.

"Cameras are disabled," he whispers. "I had them do it yesterday night."

"Thank you." I hug him again, my face crumpling. He ruffles my hair and gives my ribbon a little pull.

"Dad!" I say, pulling away at once. "Don't mess up my hair; today's the one day I want it to look good!"

He smiles at me good-naturedly, and then steps back to let my mother approach me.

"Oh, my beautiful daughter," says Mom, stroking my hair – my hair must be standing on end now, but somehow I don't care. "My beautiful, brave daughter."

She kisses the top of my forehead. When she looks at me again, she giggles. "Left a lipstick stain. Sorry." She wipes it away hastily and gives me an encouraging nod. "That was a very brave thing you did for your friends."

"You know that's not why I did it," I start to say, but she shushes me. "In a way, it is. I know you, Madge. You may want to start a rebellion," she continues, whispering now, "but the reason you volunteered was because you didn't want your friend to risk her life. I cannot tell you how proud I am of you."

"Aren't you mad at me?" I ask, looking from her to Dad. "I basically registered for a death certificate. Why isn't either of you thinking about that?"

"What's the point of that?' Mom shakes her head at me. "Besides, you might come back home."

"But if I don't –"

"And if you don't," she says firmly, looking almost furious, "make your last moments count. Show the world that Madge Undersee, a simple girl, is stronger than the Capitol."

"I promise." A glint of gold on the window catches my eye. My mockingjay pin is being reflected by the sunlight. "Here." I unclasp the pin from my dress and hand it to my mother.

"No." She shakes her head again. "You have to make it your token in the arena. You know what it signifies, don't you?"

Mockingjays are not natural birds. They are the result of a cross-species breeding between mockingbirds and jabberjays.

At the time of the rebellion, the Capitol sent in genetically modified muttations known as jabberjays, birds that could replicate human conversation, so as to spy on the District rebels.

Once the rebels understood how the Capitol was using these birds, they started to feed it false information.

Since these muttations were of no use to the Capitol after that, they left them alone in the wild, thinking they would die off. But instead they mated with mockingbirds to create mockingjays.

Mockingjays can't imitate entire conversations but sounds and whistles. I see a lot of these birds in the woods whenever I go hunting with Gale and Katniss. Sometimes when I'm alone, I sing to them. Their melody gives me company; it makes me feel the presence of my aunt.

The mockingjay isn't just a bird; it is symbolic of the Capitol's failure. I wonder if my aunt wanted to be a part of the rebellion. Is that why she chose this pin?

"Okay. This is my tribute token," I agree. I gently fasten it onto the front of my dress again. My parents smile at me. We hug again, say our 'I love you's and then they have to leave.

I bite my lip to keep from crying. I do not want to ruin the moment; my last memory with my parents is a joyful one, and I want to keep it that way.

* * *

My next visitor is unanticipated – Gale. Once he comes inside, I wait, expecting Katniss to join him. But she doesn't.

"Where's Katniss?" I ask, feeling dread fill up inside me. "Is she not coming?"

"No, she's behind the door. I told her I wanted to talk to you in private."

"Okay," I say, unsure of what he's going to tell me.

Gale sighs. He looks like he's lived a million years in just one day. In some ways, he has. He has suffered much more than a normal eighteen-year-old boy is expected to, and yet he is standing here before me, strong and brave.

"I don't know how to thank you for what you did," he finally tells me. "For volunteering."

"You don't need to thank me," I say. "It was... my duty."

Gale looks up at me in confusion. "What do you mean? Prim's not your sister."

I pause for a moment, wondering whether I should tell Gale about my plan for a rebellion. He might be able to help me. He can spread word of it in the district, gather support.

But that would put his life in danger. Can I risk it, though?

"Katniss is my friend," I say finally, searching for words to tell him indirectly, "but I also did it for Prim. I'm tired of watching children kill each other, Gale. I'm tired of being a puppet, controlled by the Capitol. I want to stop it."

There. If that doesn't make him understand, then I give up.

He steps towards me, frowning. "You mean..." I nod, and he straightens. "I misjudged you," he says, smirking. "You're not just a silly girl in a dress after all."

I laugh. "Thank you, Gale."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" He asks urgently, and I know he's talking about the rebellion.

"No, I couldn't ask that of you." He shakes his head, ready to argue, but I quickly add, "As for right now, yes. Can you give me some tips for setting up snares? For the arena, I mean?"

"What?" Gale gives me a weird look, but then agrees. Thankfully, he doesn't talk about the rebellion after that. Instead, we discuss snares and traps for the next ten minutes, after which he has to leave.

"I'll see you in three weeks," he says confidently when he opens the door.

"Gale!" I say quickly, closing the door before he can go. "If I hadn't volunteered, Katniss would have done it. You know that," I add in a low voice, remembering that she is right outside the door.

He nods slowly. "I do. Thanks."

"What I mean to say is... don't keep it in anymore. Tell her how you feel."

He looks at me sharply, almost glaring at me. "You know I can't do that. Catnip and I, we're a team. I don't want it to break."

"It won't. You'll stay a team, a happier one. But if you don't let her know, there might come a situation one day when you realise that you'll never get to be with her, ever. Don't let that happen, Gale. Tell her."

He looks away, and opens the door. "I'll think about it," is the last thing he says to me before the door closes.

* * *

The first thing Katniss says when she walks in is, "Don't cry. There are cameras outside. If you cry, it'll make you an easy target."

Her brain works even in such tricky situations. She really is a wonder.

"Sorry," I say, half-laughing, half-sobbing. I wipe my tears with a small handkerchief that I take out from my skirt pocket. "Better?"

"Somewhat," she agrees. We both smile at each other.

"I didn't expect you to volunteer for me," she says, looking miserable, "but now I feel like I owe you my life, and Prim's life, and my mother's life... how will I ever be able to pay you back?"

"You already have. You taught me to throw knives, shoot an arrow, and differentiate between the poisonous and non-poisonous berries... I owe you my life, Katniss. Can't we just call it even?"

Katniss shakes her head firmly at me, but I press on, "You agreed to teach me to hunt even though you probably didn't want to share your tips with me. You didn't give up on me when I failed at everything for the first few weeks. You've never treated me like 'the mayor's snobby daughter'. Most importantly, you've been a friend to me all these years. I think all debts are settled."

She is still silent, unsure of what so say. So I hug her, and though she is not a touchy-feely person, she hugs me back.

"Just concentrate and shoot straight," she says before she leaves. I promise her I will try.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Peeta and I are taken from the Justice building to the train station in a wagon. We are both silent, but Effie Trinket chatters on about the beauty of modern transport and the luxury of the Capitol train cars. I wonder what the point of it all is. The Capitol lets us starve, sometimes to death, in the districts, but once we are reaped for the Games, we are treated as celebrities. And then we are murdered.

It's safe to say that logic and the government are both mutually exclusive.

During the short ride to the station, I find that my tears have stopped. Peeta, too, has been crying, but has made no effort to hide it. Or maybe he has forgotten in the midst of all this 'excitement', as Effie would put it.

He could also be trying to appear weak – a lot of tributes apply this strategy in the beginning of the games to avoid being targeted. This doesn't seem that probable because he is well-built and strong, and no one will think otherwise. I know Peeta, and he is an honest boy. He won't even think about pretending to be someone he isn't.

I debate for a minute about offering him my handkerchief, or at the very least reminding him to be strong and wipe those tears. But he probably wants to be left alone right now, so I keep my mouth shut.

The station is teeming with reporters and cameras ready to figuratively capture the newest tributes of District 12. The literal capturing has already happened, of course.

I catch a glimpse of myself on the big television screen, and I'm pleased to notice that I look, at best, expressionless, at worst, tired.

I can't say the same for Peeta, but there is nothing I can do, so I let it go.

The train begins to move the moment we step inside it. The speed is breathtaking, and since I've never been on a train before, it is a new experience for me.

Travel between the districts is forbidden except for officially-sanctioned duties. My father has travelled by train a few times, but he wasn't allowed to bring guests and it probably wasn't a Capitol train, either.

I'm curious about the speed, so I ask Effie about it. She tells me that these trains average 250 miles per hour. We will reach the Capitol in about a day.

"Your chambers are just up ahead," she adds as we look at her for more directions. "Peeta, yours is to the right and Madge's, to the left. You can wear whatever you want; do as you please – all this luxury is for you, my children. Just be ready for supper in an hour!"

"Thank you," I tell her with an awkward smile. I haven't warmed up to her just yet (I probably never will), but it won't help to be angry at her. It's not her fault I'm here, anyway.

"Fancy, huh?" I remark as we walk the corridors towards our rooms.

Peeta doesn't reply. I sneak a glance at him. He seems to have stopped crying, but his eyes are still red and puffy. I bite my lip. I have seen him like this only once before in my life.

It happened when I was thirteen years old. I dropped in at the bakery, as I do every week, to buy some sweet bread for my father. To my disappointment, Peeta wasn't at the counter; his father greeted me instead. We made small talk about the weather, my mother's health, and my studies when we heard a woman's shout and the sound of metal on skin. Then Peeta came shuffling into the shop, groaning. His face was shiny pink and there was a bruise on his cheek. Mr. Mellark took one look at his son and dashed inside angrily.

I tried to catch Peeta's eyes – I was a curious child, after all – but he averted his gaze and instead stared at the floor. But I could still see the tears streaming down his face.

Then I heard shouting from inside the house, and for a minute I thought I should just leave, but then Mr. Mellark entered the shop again, holding a package of sweet bread for me. He was breathless and looked furious, so I paid for the bread and left in a hurry.

I never asked Peeta what happened, but over the years I started noticing the way his mother glared at him and the relief in his eyes when she wasn't around. I understood that she had hit him; maybe she had been hurting him all these years, and I only noticed it then.

Now, Peeta and I stop at our rooms which are on opposite sides of the train.

"See you at supper," he says stiffly, and I smile at him. He doesn't return the smile, but shuts his door behind him.

I walk inside my own chambers and exhale deeply. What had I expected? That Peeta and I would remain friends now that the Games are upon us? My life means his death; he hasn't even volunteered for this like I have. Maybe he thinks I want to be a victor; maybe he thinks that's why I volunteered for a small girl from the Seam. But why doesn't he just talk to me about it? What's stopping him?

At least the room is fantastic. It is much more posh than my house, where I only had one room to myself. But here my chambers consist of a bedroom, a dressing area, and a private bathroom.

I walk into the bathroom and almost jump with excitement. There is hot water, of course, and a shower compartment, too!

We have a shower at home, but it rarely ever works. Hot water is a privilege most of the time, even for the mayor's daughter, so I decide to spend the next hour in the shower.

I take off my white dress and shoes and tie my hair into a knot. I am about to step inside when I remember the mockingjay pin. I take it off the dress and place it on my bed, so I will remember to pin it on the next outfit that I wear.

The hot water seems to bring out the best in me. I find myself relaxing, smiling, even breaking into a song at one point. All thoughts of the Games, Peeta and the rebellion must belong to some other girl, because right now my mind is a blank canvas.

I don't want to return to the real world, but I remind myself that I have to be on time for supper. So I grudgingly step out of the shower and return to the dressing area.

I am not as crazy about dressing up as some of the girls in my class are, but the contents of the closet impress even me. There is a line of shirts and dresses on colourful hangers in front of my eyes, and carefully folded pants and skirts underneath. I pick up a pair of trousers and run my fingers over the material. Denim, I recall. My mother has a denim jacket back home.

I grab the denim pants and a cotton blue shirt and get dressed. At first I wonder if the outfit will fit me – I am not as skinny as the children from the Seam, but I must be smaller than the average Capitol citizen – but I find that everything in the closet is free-size and can be adjustable.

The Capitol sure knows how to live in the lap of luxury. But it also knows how to ruin the lives of the district citizens, I remind myself. A week of comfort is never going to make up for years of terror.

I remember to pin my token to my shirt, and then I wait in my room until Effie comes to collect me for supper. I stop in front of Peeta's room, but she shakes her head at me. "He's already at the dining table. Since you're a girl, I thought I'd give you more time to get dressed." She gives me a wink. I am not sure what to make of that.

We walk through the narrow corridor until it opens up into a dining room with polished panelled walls. The dining table sits in the centre of the room, laden with china dinnerware.

Peeta is waiting for us. The seat next to him is empty, so I take it. I expect him to react to that, but he doesn't. Maybe he doesn't hate me as much as I'd thought.

"Where's Haymitch?" asks Effie brightly.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," says Peeta, looking disgruntled.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day," says Effie, sounding relieved. I understand that nobody wants to eat supper with a drunken, manner-less Haymitch, but as our mentor, he should be here.

"What if he gets hungry?" I ask. "Will there be food for him later?"

"Of course. There are Capitol attendants on the train. He'll approach them if he wants a snack later on. Ah, and speak of the devil! Here comes the food!"

I turn to see the Capitol attendants pushing a food trolley towards us. The supper comes in courses. A thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, and a chocolate cake.

I stuff myself with the lamb chops, which are only a little bit better than the ones Mr. Farina prepares at home, but I feel hesitant to taste the chocolate cake.

"What's wrong, dear?" Effie asks me when she notices my hesitation. "Do you not like chocolate?"

"I do," I say, unsure how to frame my words. "But..." I look at Peeta, whose own plate of cake lies untouched.

"It would remind me too much of home," I finally say, turning towards Effie. "Of the cakes Peeta bakes."

"Oh," is all she can say. I feel Peeta's eyes on me, but I ignore him. If he wants to speak with me, he can make the first move.

"At least you two have decent table manners," says Effie, perhaps trying to make me feel better. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."

The pair last year... I remember them. They were two kids from the Seam, who had probably never had a full meal in all their lives. They used to go to my school, and though I'd never spoken to either of them, I had passed them in the hallways multiple times.

I don't think either of them made it through the first night of the Games.

"Please, Effie," I say, trying to keep a smile on my face, "have some respect for the dead."

She gapes at me, her mouth sliding open. Peeta's fork clatters to the floor next to me.

"Excuse me," I say calmly, and then I am walking away back to my room. It is only once I'm inside that I find myself crying again. The second or third time in a day. I've lost count, to be honest.

My mind wanders off to the place where I can never go back – home. What must my parents be feeling like? And Mr. Farina, with his wrinkled smile and cheerful demeanour?

Is my family gathered around the dinner table eating the cook's special chicken and the chocolate cake I brought home from the bakery? Or are they hiding in their rooms, waiting for this nightmare to end?

There is a knock on my door, and I ignore it, hoping whoever it is will go away. Instead, the door pushes open. I should have locked the door, but I don't know how the Capitol locks work.

I am half-expecting Peeta to walk in, but it is Effie. "Madge," she says softly, and I realise it is the first time she has called me by name since the reaping. "I am so, so sorry," she tells me, her voice close to a whisper. I notice that her wig is askew again.

I bring myself to say, "I'm sorry too," even though I really am not. Capitol citizen or not, she shouldn't be talking that way about the fallen tributes, especially not the ones she worked with herself!

"It hurt, though," I tell her, a strategy working its way through my head. "All I could think was... will you have something bad to say about me, too? After I'm dead?" At this I look away. I hate to pretend, but if I can get her sympathy, I can get her to work with me. If I want to bring the Capitol down, I will need the support of their citizens.

"I would never do that!" she exclaims, cupping her mouth with her hands. "Dear Madge, please don't think that way about me. I'm sorry. Look, I'm truly very sorry. It just slipped out of my mouth. I should have had some self-control." She walks forward and squeezes my hand. "Now, can we go back and watch the recap of the reapings? It might help to know who your opponents are."

"Okay," I nod, brushing away a tear. "Let's go."

* * *

Looking at the faces of the other tributes scares me. Most of them are bigger than me, and obviously all of them are determined to live. My chances of returning home alive seem close to zero now.

The names are called and, in some cases, volunteers step forward.

A beautiful blonde girl from District 1 is reaped, and she climbs the stage with a wide smile. I wonder if it is an act, or if she really is that ruthless. We could be sisters, she and I, if I were not so plain-looking. We look the same age, at least.

A monstrous giant-of-a-boy lunges forward to volunteer from District 2. His district partner is equally as terrifying, though she is the same size as me. Something about her eyes really scares me. She looks ready to kill.

A red-haired fox-faced girl from District 5 is reaped and she climbs onto the stage sadly. Nobody volunteers, and the camera zooms into what I assume to be her family – a mother, a father, and two little brothers.

Another six-foot tall man is selected as the tribute for District 11. The girl tribute is a sharp contrast. They both share the same dark brown skin and eyes, but she is short and skinny, child-like. I'd say she's no older than twelve. The poor girl.

Finally, the reaping for District 12 is shown. Primrose Everdeen's name is called, and Katniss is seen running forwards to protect her sister. She is just about to open her mouth when a cry comes from behind, "I volunteer!"

The camera pans towards me. I sound desperate, as if no one understands what I have done. "I volunteer as tribute!" I exclaim again, faster this time as I approach the stage.

The commentators are not sure what to say about the crowd's refusal to applaud at their newest volunteer. One says that District 12 has always been a bit backward but that local customs can be charming. As if on cue, Haymitch falls off the stage, and they laugh comically.

I notice that his jab at the Capitol about the spark and the fire has been deleted. No surprises there.

Peeta's name is drawn, and he quietly takes his place. He raises his hand to shake mine, but I hug him instead, my arms wrapped securely around his shoulders. Hesitantly, he returns the hug.

"That's unusual," one of the commentators quips. "There seems to be a strong friendship between these two. I wonder if that will change in the arena."

If I could only tell him that it already has.

"Why did you hug him, Madge?" Effie chirps curiously once the programme ends. "I have to admit, I was shocked!"

"We had a friendship," I tell her, although my eyes are on Peeta. He looks uncomfortable. Good. Let him feel guilty.

"Oh, but how hideous I looked, with my hair so messed up. All because of Haymitch. I say, your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behaviour."

Peeta laughs unexpectedly. "He was drunk," he says. "He's drunk every year."

I smirk, too. It's funny how Effie thinks Haymitch can be sharpened up with just a few tips from her. He is never going to change because he doesn't want to.

"Yes," hisses Effie Trinket. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

"Don't say that, Effie," I say quickly, knowing that she is fond of praise. "I bet you're far more important than him when it comes to the Games. We don't need him as much as we need you!"

She blushes, and when she speaks again, there is a fondness in her voice. "Oh, Madge! If only that were true..."

Suddenly, Haymitch staggers into the compartment. "I miss supper?" he says in a slurred voice. Then he vomits all over the expensive carpets and falls in the mess. I cringe.

"Oh, dear!" Effie throws her hands into the air as if frustrated. "You two wait here; I'll go call a Capitol attendant."

She hops in her pointy shoes around the pool of vomit and flees the room, shouting for someone to help.

* * *

Peeta and I have already yanked Haymitch to his feet, trying to keep our eyes off the pool of vomit. It is vile. My insides are churning at the disgusting smell, but I fight it off.

"I tripped?" Haymitch asks. "Smells bad." He wipes his hand on his nose, smearing his face with vomit.

I can't help but let out a groan. He turns to me, and he chuckles. "Oh, it's you. Our volunteer. Madge, was it?"

I nod hesitantly.

"Let me tell you something, Madge. You look a lot like this other tribute I once knew. We were allies, she and I," he says, slurring again, and there is pain in his voice as he continues. "I could have saved her. I really could have, you know. But... I didn't." He lets out a weird sound, like something a strangled cat would make.

"That was my aunt," I tell him in a quiet voice. Peeta is staring at both of us now, and he looks curious. He must have heard about my aunt, but the fact that she and Haymitch were allies is news to me, too. My mother never spoke about her sister, and I never asked Dad.

"Who?" he mumbles. "My aunt," I start to say. "She –" But his head falls limply onto his shoulder, and he starts to fall again. We quickly grab him. He has fallen asleep.

"I'll take him to his room," the attendant says immediately, appearing in the doorway. Another attendant follows him with a mop.

"Alright," I say, nodding. Peeta pauses for a minute, but then he smiles. "Thank you," he says. The attendants smile back at him.

We head to our respective rooms. The moment I close the door behind me, the train stops, probably to refuel. There is a window in my room, so I hastily run towards it to look outside. I see the lights of another district. I wonder which one it is. I wonder what their tributes are doing right now. I wonder what all the tributes are doing right now. Are they as scared as me? Or are they determined to live, just as I am determined to be a rebel?

The train picks up speed again, and I turn away from the window with a sigh. It can't have been just this morning that I was out fishing with Gale and Katniss. It can't have been this afternoon when I was – dare I say it – flirting with Peeta. And what now?

I head to the drawers and pull out the first nightdress I get my hands on. I change quickly and climb into bed. The sheets are made of soft, silky fabric, and a thick fluffy comforter gives me some much-needed warmth.

Before I can even think another thought, I fall asleep.

* * *

"Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!" shouts Effie, and I sit up in alarm. It's only Effie, calling me for breakfast. Why is she so excited? She eats rich food every day. Nothing new for her.

As I change into the blue shirt and denim pants again, my fingers touch the Mockingjay pin and I sigh. My mother must have had double the nightmares last night. All because of me. I wonder, suddenly, if my father rose to wait for me in the dining room at dawn again, but then remembered that I wasn't at home anymore. I hope they are alright.

My ribbon disappeared into the bed sheets while I was sleeping, and I don't feel like asking the attendants for another one, so I leave my hair open. It falls to my shoulders like a blonde sheet.

I look at the window once before leaving my room. I see comparatively bigger buildings and fancier roads. We must be in the richer districts now. So we will reach the Capitol soon.

I enter the dining car to see that Peeta, Haymitch and Effie are already seated around the table. She must have woken me up later than usual, to give me 'time to dress'. I frown. I don't like to be tardy. I make it a point to tell her that later.

As I approach, Effie stands up. She wipes her mouth with her napkin, touches her hair self-consciously and then says, "Well, I'm done. I'll be in my room if anyone needs me."

She gives me a small wave and then exits.

"Sit down, sit down!" says Haymitch, waving me over. I take the seat next to Peeta again, which is thankfully empty. It feels like years since I have spoken to the boy with the bread, ages since he has directed a smile at me.

Immediately, a Capitol attendant places an enormous platter of food in front of me. Eggs, ham, piles of fried potatoes, a tureen of chilled fruit. Orange juice, too. I'm not very fond of oranges – I prefer apples and strawberries – so instead I sip some coffee and hot chocolate. Mr. Farina had a special hot chocolate recipe that he never shared with me. The Capitol could take a few pointers from him, I note. Even though the chocolate is delicious, it can't compare to what my cook could have concocted.

I eat quickly, tasting a bit of everything before deciding on what I like best. I pause, taking in my breakfast companions. Peeta is breaking off bits of roll and dipping them into the hot chocolate. Haymitch, on the other hand, has ignored his platter. Instead, he's knocking back a glass of juice that he keeps thinning with alcohol from his flask. I glare at him, but he doesn't notice.

I think about what he said last night, about my aunt. He may not have been able to save me, but he could have saved hundreds of tributes by being a good mentor. Instead, he prefers to be drunk all the time. Wonderful.

Taking a cue from Peeta, I dip my fruit in the hot chocolate and take a bite. It tastes heavenly, and that's when I realise that one of Mr. Farina's secret ingredients must be fruit. I miss him. I miss my family. The only way I will ever be able to see them is if I win the Games. And for that, I require the help of the drunkard sitting in front of me.

"When are you going to start giving us advice?" I address him.

He looks up at me, frowning. Then he says, "Here's some advice. Stay alive." He bursts out laughing.

Peeta and I exchange a look. He realises that he has stopped talking to me, so he looks away before I can say anything. There is anger in his eyes. What could I have done to get this kind of treatment from him?

"That's very funny," says Peeta to Haymitch. Suddenly, he lashes out at the glass in our mentor's hand. It shatters on the floor, sending the blood-red liquid running towards the back of the train. "Only not to us."

Haymitch considers this a moment. I see his fist forming as he lunges towards Peeta, and I block his punch with my right palm. I hear a cracking sound and know that I must have damaged some of my bones. Blocking a punch is almost as painful as receiving one.

I brace myself to deflect another hit, but it doesn't come. Instead Haymitch sits back and frowns at us.

"Apologize," I say firmly, lowering my right hand. I have a strong urge to cry out in pain, but I can't. Not just yet.

"What?" he says, like he can't hear me.

"Apologize to Peeta," I tell him furiously. I glare at him, and he doesn't look away as he says, "No."

"Are you sure?" I ask him, grabbing a butter knife from the table and pointing it at him.

Haymitch's eyes move from the knife in my left hand to my red right palm, and he nods approvingly. "So I got a pair of fighters this year, huh?"

My face relaxes, but I don't lower the knife.

"Here," says Peeta, and when I turn to him, he hands me some ice from the fruit tureen. "For your hand."

"Thank you." There is a hint of a smile playing at his lips, so I give him one of my own.

"No," says Haymitch quickly, smacking my hand so the ice falls on the floor. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with one of the tributes before you've even made it to the arena."

"That's against the rules," says Peeta.

"Only if they catch you." Haymitch turns to me. "The bruise says you fought, you didn't get caught, even better." He looks at the knife in my hand again. "Can you actually use a weapon, or were you just threatening me?"

Instead of replying, I grab the knife with my right hand. It stings, but I can't throw with my left hand and even a damaged right hand will work better.

I turn to the opposite wall, and as I exhale, I throw the knife. It lodges itself in the seam between two panels, and I grin. If only Gale were here to see that shot.

"Stand over here. Both of you," says Haymitch, nodding to the middle of the room. When we do, he circles us, prodding us like animals at times, checking our muscles, examining our faces. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."

That reminds me. Once we reach the Capitol, we'll be handed over to our stylists who will dictate our fashion sense for the Games. The Hunger Games may not be a beauty contest, but the best-looking tributes can bag the most sponsors, and sponsors can be a big help.

"I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking," says Haymitch, glaring at Peeta, "and I'll stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do exactly what I say."

I would have preferred it if he were to stay away from liquor entirely, but I can't argue with this.

"Fine," both Peeta and I say.

"In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station," continues Haymitch, glancing at the window once. "You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist."

I start to argue that the stylists aren't always right, but he shushes me. "No buts. Don't resist."

He takes his flask from the tables and leaves the car. As the door swings shut behind him, the car goes dark except for the few lights inside. We must be in the tunnel that runs up through the mountains into the Capitol. We'll be there soon.

Peeta and I stand in silence. Then he turns towards me. "Why did you do that?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"He wasn't going to hit you; he was going to hit me. Why did you block his punch?"

Telling him the answer would give away the fact that I have feelings for him, and I can't let that happen. Not now, when we're both in the Games. Nothing can come out of it.

So I simply say, "I hate the guy. I figured if I wanted to intimidate him, here's my chance."

It isn't a believable excuse, and Peeta must know that. But he still nods, although his eyebrows are furrowed.

The train finally begins to slow and suddenly bright light floods the compartment. Peeta and I both run to the window for our first look at the Capitol. We've seen images before on television, of course, but this is different. This is real.

The beauty and magnificence of the high-rise buildings and the shiny cars takes my breath away. I look at the oddly dressed people with bizarre hair and wonder what makes them love makeup so much.

The colours are so bright that I have to look away for some time. "How do they not go blind from all this light?" I exclaim, scrunching up my eyes.

Peeta laughs, finally, and our eyes meet. At last he is showing me some signs of friendship, some emotion that tells me that we will not let the Games change the way we behave with one another.

And then he shakes his head quickly, and turns to the crowd again.

The people begin to point at us eagerly as they recognise a tribute train rolling into the city. I bite my lip at their excitement. Why do they love the Games so much? Doesn't it disgust them?

But Peeta starts waving to the crowd, gifting them his beautiful smiles. For a minute I'm shocked at how smart he is. But isn't that what my strategy is supposed to be? Gather the love of their citizens, and the Capitol will not want to hurt me, even if I am silently rebelling.

So I hold my ground and wave to the crowd along with him, even stooping low enough to blow kisses at them. As the train stops and we pull out of the view of the citizens, Peeta walks away from the window and jogs back into the corridor without so much as a 'bye'.

Suddenly I wonder if that is what his strategy will be. Cut off all links with me, form an alliance with the strong tributes and then betray them to bag the title of the victor.

Then I shake my head. No. Peeta would never do that.

I can tell that he is forcing himself to stay away from me, but why? For what?

I have to find out.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Hey, guys! One of my reviewers asked whether this fanfic is Madge/Gale or Madge/Peeta. It's definitely Peeta. I know it's an unusual pair, but read on and see if it appeals to you!_

_Also, I was thinking of which celebrity I see as Madge, and I finally settled on Brittany Snow, from 'John Tucker Must Die'._

_Read on! :)_

* * *

**Chapter Five**

I had assumed that my stylists and their prep team would be grooming me. Cutting my hair, maybe, or shaping my eyebrows the way my mother does hers every week. I hadn't expected them to slather me with hot wax and then rip all my body hair off!

Octavia, a chubby green-coloured woman, rubs the strip of fabric on my leg and then immediately yanks it, finally rendering my legs completely hairless. I grit my teeth and wonder when the raw feeling of my skin will go.

I want to complain; my body hair isn't very dark, so it barely even shows. But apparently I need to look 'beautiful' before I'm murdered, so all hair from my upper lip, forehead, stomach, legs, arms, underarms and back has been removed.

My eyebrows are naturally brown and thick, but Flavius, an orange-haired Capitol man, wanted to pluck almost everything off to give me a sharper and defined look. Thankfully Octavia intervened and said that the thickness makes me look innocent, and that's the look they're going for.

It makes sense, because there's no way I could pull off 'glamorous' or 'malicious'.

Venia, the third member of my prep team, and Octavia rub some lotion on their hands and then apply it all over my body, and a sigh of relief escapes my mouth. Flavius chuckles.

"Alright, all that's left now is your hair," says Venia. She has dyed her hair blue and tattooed gold designs along her eyebrow arch.

"What have you been doing so far?" I scoff. It's the first thing I've said to them since I entered this room.

"I meant your head of hair," she tells me.

"Hmmm." Flavius motions for me to put on my robe again, and I quickly do. I don't like being naked even by myself, let alone three colourful strangers. "What should we do with her hair?" he murmurs aloud. He steps in front of me and runs his fingers through my blonde mane. "Heavens, I haven't seen hair this poker-straight since my sister's rebonding last summer!"

I raise my eyebrows. I have no idea what 'rebonding' means. He looks at my expression and adds, "Did you get your hair straightened or is this –" he gasps dramatically, "– is this natural?"

"Natural," I reply.

Venia shakes her head sadly. "It's so limp, all of it. Straight, limp and blah! I think we should just cut it off!"

I look up, my mouth open in protest, but Flavius only laughs. "Now, now, Venia... find me some shampoo and a pair of scissors and I'll get to work. Innocent, you said? I'll give you innocent."

I am allowed to wear my robe while they rinse my hair with ice-cold water and start applying some sort of fruity shampoo. It smells heavenly, like peaches and strawberries. The only shampoo available in District 12 is flavourless and smells exactly like soap. Most people can't even afford basic amenities, so shampoo is treated like a luxury back home.

Once my hair is washed, Flavius asks for some styling tools. Octavia appears with a hairdryer, which looks much more advanced than the one Mom uses, and a long, thick stick that is the same pink as Effie's hair.

As the hot bursts of air dry my hair, I gingerly ask the prep team, "So what's my stylist like? Why isn't he – or she – here yet?"

"Don't worry about it, dear," Flavius says triumphantly. "Cinna is a mastermind. If he doesn't make you look like a goddess tonight, I'll dye my hair black!"

All three of them burst out laughing.

I sigh. I can only hope that this Cinna person is not as crazy as my rainbow prep team.

"Now for the hair finale... the curling iron!" Ah, so the pink stick has a name. Octavia sections my hair and pins it up, while Venia sprays the sections with hairspray every two minutes. Flavius wraps my hair around the stick, holds for a few seconds and then drops it to reveal beachy waves.

"Wow," I breathe, when they are done. My hair is no longer straight and limp, like Venia said. It hangs in voluminous waves, and when I shake my head, the curls waterfall down the length of my hair like golden water.

"That's done," says Octavia excitedly. "We'll leave you in the more-than-capable hands of your stylist, then." The three of them wave at me excitedly and close the door behind them.

I'm left alone for less than a minute when a man steps inside. I am expecting a tropical bird or an extra-terrestrial, but Cinna is shockingly normal. He isn't like the other stylists I've seen on television – he has no grotesque tattoos over his eyelids, and nor does he look surgically altered.

No, he has short brown hair and he wears a simple black suit.

He steps forwards and I notice that his green eyes are outlined with metallic gold eyeliner, giving him a cat-eye shape, and I'm tempted to ask him how he does it – my mother has tried again and again to 'wing' her eyes, but she never gets it right.

"Hello, Madge. I'm Cinna, your stylist." His voice is soft and not accented at all. He must not be a Capitol native, but I don't think District citizens are ever brought in as stylists.

"Hi," I answer back.

"Could you take off your robe, just for a minute?" he asks politely. When I look hesitant, he adds, "It's just so I can check that the prep team has done their job."

I nod. "Fine." I take it off grudgingly, and he walks around me, examining every inch of my naked body carefully. I feel extremely self-conscious, and wish I could bury myself under every piece of clothing I've ever seen.

"Okay," he says, and I quickly pull the robe on again.

"You have a delicate body shape. Not too slim, but not too much either. Your posture is natural but proper, so you've been raised in a comparatively richer environment. And your right hand is a little red," he adds, looking curious. "We don't apply wax to the fist, so what happened there?"

I appreciate his compliments, but I'm not sure whether his questions shows concern or curiosity. Nevertheless, I tell him. "My mentor and I got into a... tricky situation. It was self-defence."

"I see," says Cinna, his face breaking into a smile. "It's a pleasure to be your stylist, Madge," he finally says, holding his hand out for me to shake. I take it.

"Are you new here?" I ask. "I haven't seen you on television before." I hope he tells me where he's from, because I'm very curious about that.

"Yes, this is my first year in the Games."

"Is that why you got District 12? Nobody ever wants us," I say, chuckling. District 12's primary activity is coalmining, so every year the tributes are either forced to wear ugly mining gear or painted with black dust and made to parade around naked. There's hardly anything stylish or attractive about coal, so no stylist ever wants to experiment with our district.

"I asked for District 12," he responds. He is about to continue when I press on, "Why?"

"Let's just say I have some interesting ideas," he explains. "Can you talk and eat at the same time? I'm starving."

I laugh. "Yes, I can."

He leads me to a living room where two red couches are pointed towards a low table. The walls are all blank except for one, which is completely glass, acting as a window. I can see the entire Capitol city through that window.

I wonder why the windows are blank. The Capitol usually prefers to over-decorate everything; why not the walls?

Maybe we're supposed to feel like prisoners in here. Instead, I feel cozy.

We sit down on the couches, and he presses a button on the side of the table. A second tabletop appears, holding our lunch. Chicken, apples and strawberries in a creamy sauce laid on a bed of white rice. For the health-conscious, there is a side order of peas and lettuce. Dessert is a piece of cheesecake.

"I had it specially ordered for you," Cinna tells me. "The original menu calls for oranges and chocolate cake, but Effie told me that you prefer other fruits and flavours."

"I love chocolate," I tell him, "but somehow I can't stand it anymore."

"Yes, that happens." He shakes his head sadly. "Anyway, let's eat. Come on."

I sample the chicken gravy, and it is delicious. The cream melts in my mouth, and the strawberries are ripe and mouth-watering. I feel like this meal could just as easily have been cooked by Mr. Farina. The chicken from the butcher and the fruits from the woods.

I think of home, and my appetite suddenly reduces. I eat only a spoonful of cheesecake and push the platter away.

"Let's talk about your costumes for the opening ceremonies," Cinna says when he notices that I'm not eating. "My partner, Portia, is the stylist for your fellow tribute, Peeta. And our current thought is to dress you in complementary costumes."

"That sounds alright."

"As you know, it's customary to reflect the flavour of the district."

"Yeah. Coalmining. Fun," I reply sarcastically. Cinna looks and me and laughs. "I appreciate your sense of humour. Portia and I aren't too fond of the coalminer thing, either. It's been done to death. No, we were thinking of a costume that would make you... unforgettable."

"Unforgettable?"

"Yes. So rather than focus on the coal mining itself, we're going to focus on the coal."

That doesn't sound too good. I imagine myself tattooed with black ink, representing coal, and shudder involuntarily.

"Relax," he tells me, shaking his head at my reaction. "What do we do with coal, Madge? We burn it. You're not afraid of fire, are you?"

I find myself grinning.

* * *

Peeta and I look at each other. We're both dressed in identical black unitards that cover us from head to foot. He wears ankle-length leather boots, but mine are knee-length. The most eye-catching part of our getup, however, is the fluttering cape and matching headpiece that Cinna made out of streams of orange, yellow and red fabric. Add our blonde hair into the equation, and we look like a perfect team.

"I'm going to light your capes and headdresses on fire right before it's show time," Cinna declares. He and Portia look extremely confident, but I'm a little worried about my costume anyway. He claims he'll be using the synthetic fire that they themselves came up with, but who is to know what 'safe' means to the Capitol citizens?

Thankfully, my face is clear of makeup. My best features have been highlighted and the worst concealed, but other than that, I look just like myself.

"I want the audience to recognise you when you're in the arena," Cinna says, brushing a lock of my hair away from my face. "Madge, the girl who was on fire."

I smile. "As long as I don't burn."

"You're going to be the one doing the burning," he answers cheekily. It springs to my mind that it could be a reference to the rebellion. But he is a rich stylist; why will he ever want to rebel?

Peeta still isn't talking to me like old times, but at least he's returning my smiles now, so I'm grateful. His stylist, Portia, and his prep team are completely giddy with excitement over what an impact we are going to make. Cinna just seems weary as he is clapped on the back by my prep team.

"It was such a good decision to curl her hair," Flavius interjects, placing a hand on my hair underneath the headdress. "With the flames, she's going to look like a princess with golden tresses!"

We are taken to the bottom level of the Remake Centre. I see that pairs of tributes are being loaded into their chariots pulled by four horses. Ours are coal black to represent our district. Cinna and Portia direct us towards our chariot. Peeta jumps inside first and helps me slide into it next to him. "Thanks," I tell him, and he grins back at me. My stomach flutters. Now is not the time to think about his smile, I think to myself. Snap out of it.

Our stylists arrange our headdresses carefully and then step aside to consult with each other.

"You bake; you should be used to fire, right?" I ask Peeta, thankful that he's turned friendly once more.

He replies with gritted teeth, "Yes, but I've never tried to set fire to myself!"

"What should we do, then?"

"I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine."

"Deal," I tell him. Whether we burn or not, we're going to die in the arena, but neither of us brings this point up.

"Did you argue with your stylists at all, when they were – uh – grooming you?" I ask Peeta, wondering how much they would have done to a boy. Surely men don't need waxing. I do notice that Peeta's hair has been cropped slightly and pushed back with gel. I don't like this look that much. He looks so much better when his hair hangs over his forehead, giving him that boyish charm.

"I wanted to, but I didn't. Because of what Haymitch said. Where is he, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?" he argues.

"He said he'll help us, but I'm starting to doubt it now." The opening music begins, and I flinch. Any moment now, I'm going to be set on fire.

Massive doors slide open to reveal the crowd-lined streets. Practically everybody in the Capitol attends these events to get to know their tributes. Each chariot will do a round of the streets and reach the City Circle, where the tributes will be welcomed with the Capitol anthem.

Ahead of us, the District 1 chariot rides out towards the crowd. The tributes look beautiful. They've been spray-painted silver and are adorned with precious jewels. District 1 produces luxury goods. Always a favourite, I think, as the crowd roars with applause.

District 2 gets into position behind them, and the rest of the districts follow. Finally, the tributes from District 11 roll out through the doors. I catch a glimpse of the tributes, the six-foot boy and the twelve-year-old child. Both wear halos made of grain over their heads. Agriculture.

Cinna appears in front of us with a lighted torch. In alarm, I grab Peeta's hand. Cinna's eyes flicker towards our hands and then he chuckles. "Here we go," he says, setting us on fire.

I bite my lip, thinking I will need to scream soon, but all I can feel is a faint tickling sensation. I breathe. "Thank goodness," I whisper, releasing Peeta's hands to wipe my sweaty brow.

He ignites our headdresses and it doesn't seem like my hair is going to burn. I smile.

"How do I look?" I ask Peeta, turning towards him. His mouth is slightly open, and I can feel my eyes widening in shock, too. Because Peeta's face is illuminated by the delicate flames; the light dancing on his cheekbones, the flames giving his blonde hair that gauzy glow. He doesn't look like himself anymore. He looks like a boy made of light.

"Fiery," he tells me, and we both laugh. "What about me?" he asks, smiling.

"Hot," I say, before I can even think. "Because of the fire," I add quickly. "Not because you're – uh, never mind."

Cinna laughs. I jump; I had almost forgotten that he's standing right next to us. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!"

The chariot begins to move, and Cinna shouts, "Hold hands!" just as the music begins. It is so loud that I am unsure if that is what he said, so I turn to Peeta in confusion. He links his fingers with mine in response.

Cinna didn't need to remind me to smile, because that is all I can do right now as we approach the city. Peeta tightens his grip on me, and I squeeze his hand for support. I no longer feel nervous or afraid.

I feel giddy with pleasure as the cheers of the crowd drown out all my thoughts. All I can hear is shouts of 'Madge! Peeta! Twelve! Twelve!' and all I can feel is the warmth of the boy next to me.

I am waving and cheering back at the crowd, when Peeta nudges me. "Look," he mumbles, gesturing towards the television screen.

I look, and I am shocked to see the girl and boy magnified on the screen - us. In the deepening twilight, we look like fireflies leaving a trail of light behind us. I can't decide what I like better – the fact that I'm holding hands with Peeta Mellark, or the fact that one of us could actually win these Games with all the attention we're getting!

The chariot wobbles, and I put some of my weight on Peeta's shoulders. He turns his head towards me and starts to say something, but then his blue eyes find mine, and he looks like he has lost the ability to speak. So instead he pulls my arm up and above, so everyone can see that we are a team. The resulting cheers are wilder and louder than ever.

Finally, the twelve chariots come to a stop at the City Circle, and so does the music. Everywhere I look, I see people craning their necks to get a better look at the tributes, but almost everyone's eyes are still on us, the tributes of District 12.

President Snow, a small, thin man with white hair, gives an official welcome from a balcony above us. I look at him and wonder what he really feels about the Games. Once I had pestered my father into telling me about the president, and he told me that Snow has a granddaughter whom he adores to pieces. I wonder how he would feel if she were forced to kill innocent children to be able to survive.

As he talks, my eyes flit from him to the television screen. Peeta and I are featured most of all tributes, although some screen space is given to the tributes from 1, 2 and 4 as well – the Career tributes from the richer districts.

Night has fallen and our fire is burning brighter than ever. I glance at Peeta, illuminated in this eerie darkness, and I have to force myself to look away before he realises I'm staring.

The anthem is played and then our chariot parades around the circle one last time before disappearing into the Training Centre. I turn behind once to look at the President and find that his eyes are already on mine, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly open. I look away hastily.

Cinna's brilliance has made me a hit with the citizens, definitely, but it has also gained the attention of the officials.

And suddenly I hear Haymitch's voice in my head, from the day of the reaping, "She has a spark! I hope you're not scared of fire!"

Judging by his expression, the President definitely is.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

My room in the train now seems like nothing compared to the quarters I have in the Training Centre. More than a bedroom, it feels like a chamber of machines. Everything in here is automatic. I can press a button and bring up any food of my choice (the way Cinna did when I first met him); I can have my bed sheets changed in a second. I can even change the view from my window!

What I love most is the shower, of course. It's like the greatest bathing experience ever. There are over a hundred different options regulating temperature, pressure, shower gels, bubble bath, scents, and massage oils.

After I'm done washing myself for over an hour, I reach up towards the shelf but can't find any towels. Am I supposed to call an attendant and ask?

But the minute I step out of the shower I feel hot air dry my body instantly. There are heaters underneath my feet! A gadget styles my hair, too, detangling all knots and giving my straight hair some volume. I run my fingers through my hair and smile at my reflection.

I'm in such a good mood that I decide to wear a blue dress instead of pants for once. I look around to find my token when I remember that Cinna took it from me while he was dressing me for the Tribute Parade. Apparently all tokens have to go through a few tests conducted by a panel of members before they can be approved.

Effie calls me for dinner, and I follow her to the dining room, my stomach rumbling as I walk.

The Training Centre is a tower designed for the tributes and their teams. We stay here until the real Games begin. All our training and strategising will take place here. Each district gets its own floor. District 12 is up highest, and just above us is the roof. Cinna offered to show us around earlier, but I was exhausted, so I hope I can explore a bit after supper.

Thankfully, no one has started dinner without me. Peeta stands in the balcony, alone, and our stylists sit on a sofa near the dining table. I am glad to see them; I still haven't thanked them properly for the dazzling outfits they dressed us in.

Haymitch is supposed to be here, too, but he's still in his room, sleeping. Effie tells me to wait while she asks an attendant to check on him. "Okay," I say.

Since the stylists look like they're in the midst of an important discussion, I walk to the balcony instead. We're so high up that I can see the entire Capitol, lit up with bright lights. Every building is an architectural masterpiece. The view is breathtaking.

"Hi," Peeta greets me. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes," I breathe. "Sometimes I wonder how life must really be here, though," I add. "It can't just be luxury and riches. There's got to be something messed up, if only to balance out the equation."

"There is," he says, turning to me. His expression is stern and he looks pointedly towards the city. "I couldn't live here. I'd leave." He shakes his head defiantly, and then he remembers that there must be cameras around. Chuckling slowly, he adds, "If I could go home right now, I would. But the food's prime; you have to admit that!"

I laugh, too. He has covered up his tracks, but I know what he means. Living in the Capitol means living a life of comfort, but it also means watching and celebrating the deaths of twenty-three children every year. I'd rather go back home, where coal dust settles on everything, than brainwash myself into believing that the Games are _fun_.

"Listen," he says, looking miserable as he lowers his voice, "I'm sorry about the way I've been behaving lately. You must think I've got a split-personality or something."

"I have been wondering. What happened, Peeta?" I ask.

"After the reaping, my family came to say goodbye to me. They were really supportive; they tried to convince me that I could win if I wanted to. At least, my father and brothers did. My mother..." he grits his teeth as he says, "My mother, on the other hand, told me that District 12 isn't going to have a victor, as usual. She said the only way I can win is if I join the Careers, but even then the odds aren't in my favour. She also told me that I can't trust anyone. That I shouldn't trust you, of all people, because nobody in their right mind volunteers for the Games unless they are sure that they can win. She thinks you have some sort of strategy. She thinks that's the reason you've been hanging around the bakery for so long. You're going to use me as a shield in the Games and then betray me, so you can win and get famous."

I listen patiently, although my head starts aching by the time he brings up his mother. I was right to think that she never liked me. She is despicable!

"I didn't want to believe it, but I noticed how calm you were on the train. It was as if you weren't upset at all. I was scared out of my wits; I don't want to die! I really wanted to talk to you, because we're friends; but my mother's words were starting to cloud my judgement and I couldn't help but think that –"

"Peeta." I sigh. "I don't mean to be rude, but your mother is an evil witch."

Instead of taking offence, he laughs. "You're right," he says, grinning. "She is. But... she's also my mother. So I believed her. I'm sorry." He hangs his head in shame, the smile disappearing from his face.

"Why did you become friendly with me again?"

"When you defended me from Haymitch, I – I realised that couldn't have been part of your 'plan'. You blocked his punch so fast that it was like a reflex action. That meant you really did care about me, that you weren't going to take advantage of me."

His eyes have drooped down, and I can tell that he bitterly regrets what he did. Somehow, it doesn't matter to me. He and I are friends again; nothing could be better than that in the present situation.

"I do care about you," I tell him honestly.

He looks at me and he smiles, his eyes crinkling. "I care about you, too, Madge."

He must be talking about our friendship, I know that, but somehow his words give me courage. I lean forwards and kiss his cheek. "Thank you," I whisper in his ear.

When I pull back, he looks frozen. His eyebrows are raised, and his lips are drawn in a frown. I start to apologise, shame flooding my veins, but then I realise that his reaction isn't meant for me but for someone else.

"If you two are done – ahem – talking, it's time for dinner," says Haymitch, standing in the doorway. He wears a smirk on his face and his arms are folded. He doesn't look drunk. Just this once, I wish he were, so he wouldn't have any memory of this incident tomorrow.

"Yeah, of course," says Peeta, and blushing slightly, he jogs out of the balcony. I follow suit.

As usual, the food is excellent, but I can't process what I'm eating. I use my fork and knife, the spoon goes in and out of my mouth, and I take sips of whatever drink I've been served, but my mind is only on Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread, who sits next to me, laughing over something Cinna and Portia are talking about.

For the first time in years, I start to wonder whether Peeta feels the same way about me. I may not be the most attractive girl in the District, but I am not bad-looking, either. He isn't the sort of boy who would fall for someone based solely on looks. Peeta and I have been friends – or at least acquaintances – for quite a few years now; we have shared jokes, smiles and even bread. There is a strong chance that he likes me, too.

But then I think of Katniss Everdeen, and doubt returns.

I spent a lot of time with her in school, seeing as neither one of us has any other girl friends. Naturally my eyes would flit to Peeta every time he was in the same corridor or classroom as me. I couldn't help but notice each time that his eyes were always on us. On Katniss. His face had the same look mine probably did – a look of pure amazement, as if he couldn't believe that a girl that brave and stunning was standing right before him.

I never asked him about it. Honestly, we never spoke about anyone else. The conversation was always about us, or his cakes, or my music. I like that about him. He doesn't engage in idle gossip. When he talks, it's always something deep and meaningful.

I steer my attention towards the ongoing conversation. Both Haymitch and Effie have nothing but praise for our opening act. From our waves and smiles to the fiery debut we made, Effie claims that none of her Capitol friends can talk about anything else. Cinna and Portia both look extremely pleased.

A girl attendant sets a beautiful cake on the table and lights it. Flames rise and flicker around the edges until the fire finally extinguishes. Everyone seated around the table cheers. Cinna says, "I ordered this cake especially in honour of the Tribute Parade."

I am hesitant at first – I haven't really tasted cake since the reaping, but when Peeta himself places a large portion on each of our plates, I readily taste it. It's a delicious pineapple cake with red, orange and yellow frosting to represent the flames.

"This cake rivals the ones I frost back home," Peeta says, stuffing himself with a mouthful of cake at once.

"Yes, they made sure to work on the frosting after I told them you were a baker's son," Portia tells him cheekily. We all laugh. For the first time, we are all being cordial and friendly. Even Haymitch, who only drinks wine today, is full of smiles. I notice that his eyes have been on either me or Peeta throughout dinner. Probably because of what happened on the balcony. My cheeks flush at the thought of the kiss, and I smile inwardly.

After dinner, we move to the sitting room to watch the replay of the opening ceremonies that's being broadcast.

Hardly any of the other tributes make an impression when compared to us, but the moment the tributes from District 2 are shown, I suddenly recall the way the boy tribute looked at us after the parade. Peeta and the stylists were talking excitedly about the ceremony, but I noticed him glaring at us from the corner of my eye. He's a Career tribute from the richer districts. Of course he doesn't want to be showed up by two kids from the coalmining district.

"So beautiful," gushes Effie when we're shown on screen. On the television, we look even more breathtaking than we did in reality.

Haymitch nods approvingly and says, "Whose idea was the hand holding?"

"Cinna's," says Portia.

"Just the perfect touch of rebellion," says Haymitch, grinning. "Very nice."

My head instinctively turns towards him and I almost ask him what he means when I understand. Cinna made us look like a team, unlike the other tributes who were trying to pretend like their fellow teammates didn't even exist, as if the Games had already begun.

Now the sponsors are sure to remember us, if not for the costumes, then for our friendship.

"Tomorrow morning is the first training session," Haymitch announces. "Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I want you to play it. Now go get some sleep; you two clearly need it."

"I actually wanted to see the roof," I tell him. "I know Peeta and the rest already went, but I didn't get a chance to see it."

"I'll take you, then," Cinna says, rising from his seat, when Haymitch shakes his head. "No need, Cinna. I'll do the honours for our girl on fire." Chuckling, he bids goodnight to the team and steers me towards the flight of stairs leading to the roof, one hand on my back.

A small door leads to the outside. The night air is cool and the wind is quite loud. It would be the perfect spot to share secrets. Nobody – not even the cameras – would be able to hear you here.

I walk around, breathing in. "The air is so fresh," I say. "Reminds me of home." Of the woods, where I could sense everything.

"How long have you been in love with Peeta?" Haymitch asks me suddenly, and I stare at him in shock. "What did you say?" I ask, my voice shaking.

"I'm not an idiot, sweetheart," he answers with a laugh. "Anybody with a brain can see it. Why do you think Cinna wanted you two to hold hands?"

I feel myself turning red. "How did you know?" I finally say, folding my arms over my chest. "Is it that obvious?"

"Let's see. You hugged him after the anthem, and you stopped me from punching him even though it hurt you to do it. Every time you look at him you're practically shouting that you love him. And then what happened in the balcony..." Haymitch stops to chuckle, but I only glare at him. "So I guess you told him how you feel, huh?"

"No," I answer. "I just felt... brave."

"I bet you did," he says, laughing. "So what are you planning to do about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Aren't you going to tell the boy? He's a smart kid, but he's very clueless about these things, I can tell."

"Haymitch." I sigh. I walk to the garden and sit down near a plant. "I can't tell him."

He follows me to the garden but leans against the wall and raises an eyebrow. "Why not? What do you have to lose?"

"What do I have to gain? There can be only one victor, Haymitch. There's no point saying anything now."

Haymitch shakes his head sadly. "He deserves to know. Maybe he likes you, too. It sure looked that way from where I was standing."

I'm tempted to squeal, "Really?" but I know better. "No, he doesn't. There's this other girl... a friend of mine, actually. I've seen the way he looks at her."

"Who?"

"The sister of the girl who was reaped. Prim's sister, Katniss."

"That was before the reaping. The Games have the power to change a lot of things, Madge. Sometimes they change us, too. In some rare cases, they make you realise what you really want." He looks away sharply, and I wonder if he's speaking from experience.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore, Haymitch," I retort. "And please," I add quickly, as he turns to leave. "Don't breathe a word of this to Peeta, okay? I don't want him to stop talking to me again. I don't want to be friendless in the arena, you know."

"Friendless in the arena!" scoffs Haymitch. "The Games aren't a place to make friends. But hey, you can make this situation work for you. As your mentor, I think I should really look into it. Help you win the Games. Grab everyone's attention."

"What do you mean?" I ask, my eyes fixed on him. "Grab attention?" That could be useful to me, for my plan.

Haymitch shrugs. "You'll find out, sweetheart. Get some sleep, okay? Big day tomorrow."

He gives me an encouraging nod and walks back inside, whistling lightly. I should be embarrassed after the events of the day, but instead I laugh.

In a way, it's nice, being able to talk to someone about my love life. Even if he is drunk, old Haymitch!


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Training begins the next morning. My stylists have left an outfit for me at the front of the closet, one that looks eerily similar to the kind I wore for my hunting trips with Katniss and Gale. Black pants, a burgundy tunic and leather shoes.

As I'm shaking my hair out of the ponytail that I slept in, my mind wanders back to District 12. What must be going on back home? Did my parents catch the recap of the Tribute Parade? They must have seen it in the square along with everyone else. At least my father must have. My mother must be too ill to do anything besides sleep.

Thank goodness for Cinna. Our fiery entrance must have given my district some hope that one of us will return.

Speaking of home, I wonder if Gale took my advice and told Katniss how he feels. Maybe they're a couple now... I smile at that thought, not because I'm selfish and want Peeta to get over Katniss, but because I know how much Gale cares about her. They are best friends. They ought to be together.

Effie knocks on my door, and I call out that I am already awake.  
"Well, then get dressed, dear! It's a big, big day, so you deserve a big, big breakfast!"

"Okay," I shout back.

I examine myself in the mirror one last time. My blonde hair is still a little wavy from the ceremony and looks good, but I don't feel comfortable leaving it open. If I have to handle knives and arrows today, I need to be ready. So I ransack the drawers and find a simple black headband that I use to pull my hair off my face.

Then I head down to the dining room where we ate yesterday night. My gaze lingers on the door to the balcony for a second, as if I'm expecting Peeta to still be there. A blush comes on at the thought of last night and my talk with Haymitch, and I roll my eyes at myself. Here I am, on a death mission, and all I can think about is a _boy_.

Nobody else is here, not even Effie, so maybe she didn't expect me to get ready so quickly. There are a few Capitol attendants arranging platters of food on a side table, so I approach them.

"Should I wait, or can I serve myself, like a buffet?" I ask them.

One of them nods, so I take a big plate and get down to business. Pancakes with some sort of sweet syrup (not honey, like we use back home), scrambled eggs, blood red apples, and sausages – my plate resembles a towering pile of food by the time I sit down and begin the feast.

* * *

I'm almost done with breakfast when Haymitch and Peeta enter the room. Effie is nowhere to be seen. Maybe she's eating in her room for a change.

"Hey," I say to Peeta, and he smiles back at me. Haymitch chuckles softly but turns it into a cough when I glare at him angrily. I notice that Peeta is dressed like me – black pants and a burgundy shirt. Did Cinna think of making us look like a team, or is there a standard uniform for training?

"Done already, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks me when I push my empty plate away. Peeta, standing at the buffet table, glances at us.

"I came down early," I reply.

"Well, let us boys finish, and then we can talk about the training you two will do today."

Peeta sits down next to me – I smile unconsciously – and we both nod.

Training lasts for three days, and takes place in a separate room with all the tributes practising together. I'm not sure what training is all about, but my father told me that we get to try out different weapons, learn survival skills and other strategies that might help us survive the Games.

On the third day, we'll have to put up some sort of a show in front of the Gamemakers, and they'll rate us accordingly. The scores of all the tributes are shown on television, but their training techniques aren't.

Once Haymitch finishes his hundredth plate of strew, he sighs, takes out a flask from his pocket and practically chugs the whole thing down. I start to shout at him when I remember his deal – he'll help us as long as we don't interfere with his drinking.

"So, let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now," he finally says once he wipes his mouth.

"Separately? Why would you do that?" Peeta asks. I heave a sigh of relief. It sounds like he doesn't like the idea of it. I'm glad; I want to spend as much time as I can with this boy before someone murders us.

"Say if you had a secret sill you might not want the other to know about," says Haymitch. He glances at me and adds, "We already know Madge is good with a knife. But if you want to keep your skills a secret, Peeta..."

Peeta catches my eye and shakes his head. "I don't really have any secret skills. I don't have any skills, for that matter."

"Yes, you do," I tell him quickly, "and we're in this together. Might as well be coached together," I say to Haymitch.

He gives me an approving look. "Alright. So give me some idea of what you two can do."

"I can't do anything, unless you count baking bread," says Peeta.

"I don't," starts Haymitch, but I shush him.

"You can do so much!" I exclaim. "You're the best at wrestling in our school, you can lift the heaviest bags of flour at the bakery, and your frosting skills are out of this world!"

"Yes, because wrestling someone to death is extremely easy. And what, am I supposed to throw rocks at people to kill them?"

"With a knife in your hand, you've got a great chance of winning, Peeta! Don't put yourself down, okay?"

He sighs. "Madge, you and I both know that there's no chance of my survival. It's different for you. You're amazing with knives; you can even use a bow and an arrow! Katniss Everdeen is your best friend, for heaven's sake! She gave you lessons!"

I flinch when he mentions her name. The Capitol is watching us, and they wouldn't like the fact that a girl named Katniss can hunt.

Then I realise that I never told anyone except my family about my hunting trips with Katniss and Gale. Even when I went to visit Peeta afterwards, we never talked about the woods.

"How did you know that?" I ask him, and he pauses, as though he's searching for words. "I j-just," he stammers, "I guessed that – that you –"

"Enough," says Haymitch, shaking his head. "Peeta, don't underestimate yourself. Strength is essential for survival, and it can tilt the advantage to a player. They will have weights in the Training Centre, but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes."

"Okay," he replies, although he still looks like he doubts himself.

"And Madge, tell me everything you can do. From hunting to survival skills."

"Well," I say, thinking about all my visits to the woods with my friends, "I can use a bow and an arrow, but not very well. My best bet would be a knife, but even there I haven't had much practice. I know some snares, so I could find food that way. I can climb trees, too, but I'm much more comfortable on foot."

Our mentor listens patiently to me, and when I'm done, he smiles. It's the first real smile I've seen from him. "Excellent. So you work on climbing and archery in the Training Centre. Camouflage helps in the arena, and a shady tree can give you that. So the plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend the time trying to learn something you don't know, like throwing a spear or swinging a mace. Save your special skills for the private session with the Gamemakers. Are we clear?"

We nod.

"One last thing," Haymitch adds, just as we start to get up from our seats. He ushers us down again, and continues, "I want you to be by each other's side every minute in public."

"Okay," I agree. I look at Peeta, and he nods, too, although he does it half-heartedly.

"We'll do it, but I don't see why, Haymitch. In the arena..." he sighs.

"You'll find out why." He shoots me a look, and I frown. So this is for my benefit. What is Haymitch trying to do? Simply get Peeta to like me back, or is this much bigger than that? I wish he would tell me what his strategy is. I don't like not knowing!

"Now go back to your rooms. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten."

There are only fifteen minutes to ten, so I hang around the dining room, munching on some last-minute snacks. It will be weird, being in the same room as all the other tributes. The scary boy from District 2. The child from District 11. Boys and girls from all around the country, some of them actually ready to face their death. And here I am, scared about meeting them. How will I kill, then?

* * *

Peeta and I meet Effie at the elevator at ten. "Why didn't you join us for breakfast?" I ask her curiously. Today she is wearing a blue wig, a change I approve of. But there is too much makeup on her face to compensate for the loss of pink.

"I thought you two should have some alone time with your mentor," she explains. "Don't worry, though. I went out for a bite with my friends. Your stylists were there, too. We indulged in some Capitol gossip about the tributes!" She grins at us. "But naturally, you two were the talk of the town! Everyone wanted to know all about you, and I obliged!"

"Thank you. That might help with sponsors." I tell her, as the elevator zooms down. The training rooms are below the ground floor, sort of like a basement.

Th elevator doors open and Effie bids us goodbye with a smile. We step into the room in amazement. It's a huge gymnasium, filled with all kinds of weapons and obstacle courses. There is a trainer at each station, and all the other tributes have already arrived. They are all wearing different outfits with their district number pinned to their shirts. Someone pins the number 12 on my back the moment we join the other tributes.

The head trainer is a tall woman by the name of Atala. She explains that the trainers will remain at their stations and we are free to travel from area to area depending on our choice of skill, whether fighting or survival techniques. Combative exercises with other tributes are forbidden. "You'll have plenty of time for that in the arena, so just practise with the assistants for now." she says smugly. I frown. How can she take it so lightly?

We are dispersed. The Career tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4 line up for the fighting stations – spear-throwing, sword-fighting, shooting. The girl from 2 heads straight to the knife-throwing and throws them with ease. I can't take my eyes off her. How does she do that? I am nothing compared to her!

I recall what my father told me. The Career tributes are trained in a special academy until they're eighteen, and that is why they usually win the Games. Volunteering is considered honourable in their districts. In ours, we call it suicidal.

"Where do we begin?" Peeta asks me. I look around, taking in my surroundings. I don't want to go anywhere near the Careers, but the survival stations are flooded with the other tributes. So I just shrug. "Wherever you want to do."

"Let's shoot arrows," he says.

We approach the archery station. The trainer hands us a bow and quiver of arrows each, and explains about the targets. They are kept stationary, but if we are advanced, we can practise with moving targets, too.

The beautiful blonde from District 1 is here, too, practising with the moving targets, but she isn't very good. She manages to hit the head or the stomach sometimes, but mostly she strikes the leg or the arm. Katniss would defeat her in a pinch.

"You go first," Peeta tells me, looking nervous. "Okay," I reply, although I am just as nervous as he is. It would be different if the Career girl wasn't setting the standards here.

I stand in front of a stationary target, that of a man, and take out an arrow from my quiver. The bow is heavier than the one I practised on at home, so my first arrow falls straight to the ground. The Career girl laughs snarkily, and unfortunately this time her arrow goes right through the heart. Lucky shot.

I am so furious and desperate to prove myself that I push all other thoughts from my brain. There is no Peeta next to me, no Career tributes, no Hunger Games. There is only the target in front of me and the arrow pulled across my bow. I shoot the arrow and it plunges itself near the heart.

The District 1 girl glowers at me. I smirk at her. "Thank you," I say, taking a small bow. Peeta laughs. "Let me try now," he says.

We spend the next hour shooting arrows until it drives the Career girl away. She stalks off, muttering something about 'coalmining losers'.

Next, we try our hands at sword-fighting. Peeta is quite good, as it takes force and strength to swing the sword, but I give up almost immediately. "We can do something else," he says. "I think I'll try throwing the knives."

"You do that," I tell him. "I can't, remember? I think I'll try the survival skills instead."

"Okay," he replies.

We're supposed to be together at all times during training, like Haymitch said, but fifteen minutes apart won't make much of a difference.

I look around at the stations, unsure of where to go. I could work on trapping, but I doubt I need any more practice – Gale is a very good teacher, after all.

Instead I head to the edible plants station. There is already someone there, though.

It's the redhead from District 5 who looks a little like a fox. She is busy tapping away at a screen and eliminating various herbs and berries. She barely even needs to look up to do it.

I look questioningly at the trainer and he explains that she is identifying the poisonous plants. He asks if he can help me, but I shake my head. I am too busy watching this girl at work.

When she finishes, she breathes deeply and turns to face me. "What?" she asks, a little too cautiously.

"You're really good at that," I answer.

She shrugs, as if it's no big deal, but her muscles relax slightly. "I'm alright, I suppose. So are you just going to stand here, or do you want to try?" She looks pointedly at the screen.

"Oh, um, sure," I say. I take her place and she folds her arms, watching me. The screen beeps once and images of different plants pop up in front of me. I recognise most of them from the woods – some are just flowers, some are edible roots, and some are extremely poisonous plants. But it takes a while for my mind to register which ones are which, so my score ends up considerably lower than the girl's.

"You could do with some practice," she says, sounding disappointed. "You took too much time with the berries and still chose the wrong ones."

"Those berries looked exactly like blueberries!" I argue, shaking my head at her. "There's hardly any difference. I just took a chance."

"You can't take a chance when it comes to survival, or you die," she argues back. "And there's a clear difference between those berries. Look." She grabs my hand and pulls me towards the station, where real plants are kept on display.

"Look at the poisonous berries. They're called nightlock. At first glance they seem like blueberries, but there's a reddish tinge to them at the centre. They're also slightly rounder." She points at a display titled 'Nightlock'.

I step closer and examine them. I notice the reddish streaks across the centre of the berries, although I can make no sense of their roundness. "They grow in my District, I think. I've seen them, but never ate them," I say.

"If you did, you wouldn't be standing right here," she tells me. "Then again," she sighs, "that would have been a welcome change."

I look at her solemnly and nod. "Yeah, it would have."

She stares back at me for a second or two before saying, "My name's Fauna."

"Madge," I say. I am about to ask her how she knows so much about plants, because her district's main industry is power, when I notice Peeta at the knife-throwing station. His knives stick to the board for a second and then topple right down.

"I'll see you later," I tell Fauna, thinking that the name really suits her. If I recall correctly, it means 'animal'. And with the red hair and the fox-like face, she really is Fauna. "Nice meeting you."

"You too, Fire Girl!" she calls out as I make my way back to the fighting area.

"Did my hideous skills bring you here?" asks Peeta when he sees me walk towards him. "I told you I have no chance in these games," he adds bitterly.

"You were amazing with the sword," I remind him. "But you're not using the knives properly. You need to keep your wrists locked. Stand with your feet hip-width apart, and try exhaling before you throw the knives. It really helps."

"You can't show me, can you?" he asks, sighing. "I'm just no good at this!"

"You don't need to see me! This is about you! Just focus on the target and make sure you're throwing right. It's not too difficult, Peeta."

He tries again and fails, and I groan and throw my arms up in frustration. He frowns at me. "You're a bossy teacher."

I shake my head when I realise that he's right. I'm behaving the same way Gale does with me. He has clearly influenced me more than I realise.

"Watch the girl from 2," I say finally, trying to make my voice kinder. Peeta turns back and watches.

She is still throwing knives even though it's clear that she doesn't need any more practice, even though it's been over two hours. Her knives pierce the heart every time, and her stance is exactly the way I told Peeta to stand.

"Okay," he says finally, and throws the knife, this time keeping his wrist tight. The blade hits the dummy target's arm, finally sticking to the board.

"That's amazing!" I say happily, reminding myself that motivation is essential for any sort of training. "Really good, Peeta!"

He grins at me, putting the knives down. "That's the Madge I know and love. Come on, now it's time for me to show off. Camouflage, come on!"

"Ooh, I get to see the artist at work," I say excitedly.

Peeta grabs a brush and gets to work immediately, swirling greens with browns to create a wooden finish on his arms. I try to do something, too, but I can't paint if my life depends on it. In this case, my life does depend on it, but I let that idea slide.

The trainer is busy explaining the use of the different colours to some bored-looking tributes, but once he realises how amazing Peeta is, he drops everything and joins me as a spectator.

When he's finally done, he stands up and puts his arm next to a tree bark. I gasp. "Your arm looks like it's a part of the tree! I didn't know you were this good; I just thought you could decorate cakes!"

He has never been in the woods, so it must take him a great deal of imagination to paint himself into nature.

"You flatter me," says Peeta, turning pink. "It's not that good."

The trainer smiles at us. "It's great," he echoes. "There won't be actual paint in the arena, of course, but you can use mud and leaves to hide yourself. People think camouflage is a joke –" (at this point he turns and glares at the other tributes at this station who aren't even trying to hide their yawns) "– but it is actually essential for survival."

"I agree," says Peeta. "What do you want to do now?" he asks me, but Atala calls for our attention. "Please gather around the dining table in the next room for lunch. You are free to practise for another hour after you're done."

"That answers my question," declares Peeta. "Shall we?" he asks, holding out his hand in front of me. I graciously take it and we walk to the dining table together, but not before I notice that the Careers are staring at us. The girl from the archery station is muttering something rapidly to the others, but the District 2 boy's eyes are on me, the same boy who was furious about our blazing costumes. He folds his muscular arms and glares, and I glare back, not caring to think about how he could crush my neck to a pulp in seconds.

The boy looks shocked that he didn't manage to intimidate me, and he actually starts towards us when Peeta yanks on my hand. "Can we go?" he whispers. "I'm sorry, but I really don't like those tributes."

"Okay," I answer, forcing a smile on my face. The glare is back on the boy's face, and I wonder for a moment why he was going to approach us. But then the smell of lunch wafts into my nose, and I forget everything apart from the rumbling in my stomach.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Training continues as usual the next day. Peeta and I visit every station and learn every skill together. We tie knots, wrestle with the assistants, and climb nets and trees. We find ourselves talking throughout, and sometimes we even end up laughing uncontrollably.

During lunch, Peeta analyses every loaf in the bread basket, saying that every district has a different kind of bread. The crescent-shaped loaf from District 11, the green-tinted seaweed bread from District 4, and the tessera grained bread from back home.

We have a frosting contest, where both of us have to decorate the pieces of bread using only jam and marmalade. Peeta wins, obviously.

But I win the chugging contest – it takes me only ten seconds to chug down my glass of chocolate milk, but Peeta takes so much longer it's shocking.

"It was so creamy and delicious; I needed a few seconds to let myself taste it!" he argues, but I wave him off. "You're such a sore loser, Peeta. Man up!"

It surprises me that the Careers keep an eye on us the entire time. Even when we're just building snares and talking, I've looked up multiple times, only to find them looking away hastily. Why are they are so interested in two kids from District 12, of all places?

Haymitch and Effie hound us about the training sessions during dinner. They act as a team, surprisingly, asking us about every tribute, every skill that we've mastered. Effie doesn't comment on his terrible eating habits and he doesn't insult her green wig or yellow eyelashes.

I guess they've decided to ignore each other's shortcomings so they can find ours.

"Peeta's really good with a sword," I tell them when they ask about our training, pausing to take a bite of my meat loaf. "Although he does need some practice with a knife," I tease, glancing at him for a reaction. But instead of being angry, he smiles.

"It's the opposite for her," Peeta says, chuckling. "Oh, and she's really good at tree-climbing. She scurried up that tree like a mouse! I looked away for one second, and when I looked back I couldn't even see her hidden amongst those leaves!"

I start to object, but then I shrug. "Yeah, I guess I am good with trees. No point in being modest, right?"

Haymitch laughs. "Good job, sweetheart," he says, addressing me. "I don't have to worry about skills with you two, huh? So what about the rest of the tributes? Seen any potential allies?"

Peeta and I exchange a look. This is one of the topics we haven't actually talked about. "I don't know," he says finally. "I don't think I want any allies, to be honest."

"Same," I agree, although I actually wouldn't mind having a few friends in the arena. "Although there is this one girl that caught my attention. Her name is Fauna, from District 5. She's really brainy."

"Which one is she, again?" Peeta asks, and I remind him. "The girl who helped me with the edible plants station."

Effie nods happily. "Intelligence can be important in the arena. Do you want Haymitch to talk to her mentor about a possible alliance, Madge?"

"No!" I backtrack quickly. "I didn't say I want her; I just thought she was the smartest of the tributes. I don't know her enough to trust her, after all!"

"Fine, fine," sighs Haymitch. "So no allies for you two?"

We shake our heads. "No allies," repeats Peeta.

A doubt hounds me, though. I had assumed that Peeta and I would be in the Games together, the way we've been since the reaping. Has he assumed the same, or does he not want _me_ as an ally, either? I'm afraid to ask him, though, so I shake the thought out of my head.

"What about the Career tributes?" asks Effie excitedly. "What are their strengths?"

"Archery, not so good; swords, knives and spears, really good. They're almost always together. They eat lunch at the same table, too." Peeta shakes his head sadly. "But they aren't even friends. They don't even try to make conversation at lunch. They just want to look surly and intimidate everyone else."

"And have they succeeded in intimidating you two?" smirks Haymitch, taking a big sip of whisky.

"Yes," Peeta mumbles, looking away.

"I don't know if I should mention this or not," I say warily, "but they've been watching us."

"What do you mean?" Effie questions, looking confused. "The Gamemakers or the Careers?"

"Both," I answer. "The Gamemakers looking is alright, but... I really don't understand why the Careers stare at us like that. It's as if they think we're..."

"Potential threats." Haymitch finishes the sentence for me and nods. "If you have such a diverse pool of skills, of course they're going to watch out for you two. This isn't good. It means their first target in the arena is going to be one of you."

I gulp. The idea of being targeted by any of them, even the girl with the bad aim, terrifies me. I don't know what I'd do in such a situation. Could I really bring myself to kill someone for the sake of self-defence? I suppose I'll find out when I'm in the arena for real.

Effie exclaims in a high pitched voice, "Eat your dinner and go to bed, darlings! Tomorrow's the evaluation, after all!" She seems worried, too, but she's very good at hiding her emotions.

We eat our dinner in silence after that. Haymitch tries to press the matter; he asks again and again about the tributes from the outlying districts, but neither Peeta nor I say anything other than yes or no.

* * *

I close my eyes, but sleep doesn't come. All I can think about is the evaluation, where I'm supposed to throw knives and impress the Gamemakers, without any practice beforehand. How am I to do that? The Careers will all be using moving targets, and unless I do the same, my scores will be much lower by comparison. I can't trust myself to throw with such pinpoint accuracy. Even in the woods I could never bring down the squirrels scurrying up and down a branch; Katniss always took care of the faster animals.

I sit up hastily and consider sneaking into the Training Centre and practising for a few more hours. But what good will that do? There's a huge chance that the room will be locked, and even if it isn't, I don't know how to configure the targets correctly. Only the trainers are allowed to do that.

Where else can I find knives to throw?

Then I remember that I can order food from my room. The food comes with a set of cutlery. I could use the butter knife to practise. It's better than nothing, after all.

I move to the side of the room, where the food contraption stands. I punch in random buttons and order some meat. The platter appears through a side panel, and accompanying it is a silver butter knife.

I spend the next hour hurtling the knife at different panels on the wall. I run and throw, I crouch down and aim, I throw with my left hand; I try all possible combinations that could help with the moving targets.

By the time I'm done, my breathing is so heavy that I need to drink a gallon of water to calm myself down.

There is a knock on my door, catching me off guard, and I spill some water down the front of my shirt. Cursing, I wipe my clothes with a napkin and walk towards the door, trembling.

"Who is it?" I squeak. Maybe I'm in trouble for using the knives in my room. It's probably illegal. Maybe the Capitol attendants are here to arrest me.

"Madge, it's me," comes a voice. I relax and open the door immediately.

Peeta walks in briskly, looking agitated. "I couldn't sleep," he explains. "I walked around the living room for a bit, switched on the television... but they were showing the recap of last year's Games. I didn't want to watch that, so I thought I'd go up to the roof. But then I heard this weird wheezing noise coming from your room. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I say, clearing my throat a little. "I was just, er, practising with some knives. I guess I got exhausted." I point at the knife still lodged in the wall panel.

"Nice." Peeta lets out a low whistle. "I wanted to practise some more, too, but I completely forgot about the cutlery we get along with the food. Thanks for the idea..." His voice trails off when he notices that I'm still struggling to catch my breath. "Are you going to go back to sleep now?"

I shake my head and hope that my breathing goes back to normal. "I'm actually glad you're here. Can you teach me hand-to-hand combat?"

"What?" he exclaims. "Why do you need to learn that? You're amazing at so many things already."

"No, I'm the jack of all trades, master of none. This is just another trade that I want to learn. Please, Peeta? If someone jumps on me in the arena, I won't stand a chance. Even with a knife."

He shakes his head quickly and looks away. "No. I can't fight with you. You're a girl!"

That hurt! I glare at him. "Hey, I don't bruise very easily. And even if I do, the audience will think I've mixed it up with another tribute before the Games. It'll add to my ferocity."

"Please don't quote Haymitch; that's very disturbing. And no," he adds, turning red, "I didn't mean that you'll get hurt. I mean that you're a girl... I can't... you know, wrestle with you."

"What do you – oh," I say, realising what he means. I imagine Peeta pinning me to the wall with barely a few inches between us, and I find myself blushing as well. "So just... you know... keep your hands off me. Just help me learn some good punches and kicks, okay?"

"Fine." Peeta finally agrees. He looks around for a minute, then races to my bed and grabs one of the fluffy pillows. "Here." He holds the pillow in front of his body and tells me to punch it as hard as I can.

I try my best, but the hit is so feeble that the pillow barely even moves. "Come on, you can do this, Madge! Use your fists!"

I aim a kick next, hoping that maybe my legs are stronger than my arms. Peeta barely even feels the force of it, although he encouragingly tells me that it's better than the first. His tone is so in contrast to the way I shouted at him yesterday for not throwing the knife that I actually feel guilty for being such a strict teacher.

"Why don't you imagine this pillow to be someone you really hate? Take all your anger out on them!" suggests Peeta when my next couple of hits are just as bad.

"I'm... not... a very... angry... person!" I say, enunciating every word with a punch that's barely good enough to knock out a squirrel.

"There must be someone – or something – that brought sorrow to your life. Isn't there?" he asks, locking eyes with me. I see the dark circles around his blue eyes, and that's when I realise that there _is_ something I hate with every fibre of my being. The Capitol.

_This one's for my aunt_, I think, as I kick the pillow with all the strength I can muster. One of its seams rips, and a few feathers fall out. _This, for my parents. This, for all the starving children in every district of Panem,_ I think to myself, as I box the pillow furiously. The impact makes the air dance with feathers.

_And this one, for taking away Peeta's life due to these Games._ "I will bring you down if it is the last thing I do!" I don't realise that I say the last bit out loud when I spin and kick the pillow, or what's left of it, so hard that it actually flies out of Peeta's hands and falls on the other side of the room.

"Whoa," he whispers, looking from me to the torn mass of feather and cloth on the floor. "That was... something."

"It really was," I agree, my voice low as well. "I never realised I had that much strength in me."

"You know when I realised how strong you really are?" Peeta asks. The question catches me by surprise.

"I don't know; when I blocked Haymitch's punch?"

"No. When you volunteered for Prim at the reaping."

I stare at him without blinking for a few seconds. "What do you mean?"

"I was shocked when you did it, honestly," he tells me, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking around the bedroom. "I mean, everyone expected Katniss to volunteer for her sister. When you did it... I realised how courageous you are. It's not easy to do that for family, let alone your friends, but you did it for someone you've probably never even spoken to that much. And here you are, not ready to give up, still fighting to defeat the Capitol. I don't think you can get stronger than that, Madge."

"Don't be too sure about that," I say, grinning, as I follow him around the room. "I might surprise you. I am feisty, you know. I can kick some butt when I need to."

"I already know that," says Peeta. He puts his hands on my shoulders and presses gently. "You're an amazing fighter. If you don't believe me, ask the pillow." He looks pointedly at the heap of feathers and winks at me goofily.

"I believe you." I smile.

I look into his eyes and realise how close I'm standing to him. There can't be more than six inches of space between us. I know I should be tired after all this practice but instead I feel more alive than I've felt in days. There is a weird sort of energy surging through my veins, tempting me to show that boy how I feel with a kiss.

_Kiss him!_ My brain commands me. _Kiss him before it's too late!_

I am thinking about whether to lean into him or not when he takes his hands off my shoulders and walks back towards the door. "It's getting really late." He looks at the clock on the opposite wall and adds, "It's past two a.m. We should get some sleep. Last day of training tomorrow... we might as well get some rest."

"Yeah, of course! Sleep is so important for a healthy body and mind!" I blabber quickly, feeling the unrest returning to my body. One chance to tell him how I feel, and now I've lost it!

"Well, have a good night!"

"Good night," he replies, gifting me one wide smile before closing the door behind him.

* * *

I jiggle my foot anxiously. I sit in the dining room alone, waiting to be called for the evaluation. They've been calling the tributes out of lunch one by one in order of districts, and they don't return to the lunch room after their turn.

District 1 went first, and it's been five minutes since I wished Peeta good luck and watched him walk into the gymnasium. I hope he isn't having any problems with the weights that he's going to throw.

Ten more minutes pass, and then finally my name is called. "Madge Undersee."

I clear my throat, crack my knuckles and walk inside the gymnasium. I am greeted with an air of desolation. I have to look around to make sure that the Gamemakers are still here. They are sitting on the same staged platform where they sat the last couple of days, but they are very distracted. It must be their lunch time, too, because every single one of them has food in their mouth and a drink in their hands. Half of them haven't even noticed that I've entered the room.

"Good day," I exclaim, taking a small bow. "My name is Madge Undersee, and I'm from District 12."

At this they look up from their conversations. A few of them nod, apparently having recognised me from the training they oversaw. Others mumble amongst themselves. It's clear that they are tired of evaluating twenty-three tributes all in a row and want a break.

Sighing, I make my way to the knife station. I think about using the moving targets, which are already switched on, but at the last moment I change my mind and decide to play it safe, at least in the beginning of my evaluation. I make sure my stance is correct before exhaling and throwing the knives one by one.

The first one pierces the head, the second hits the heart and the third goes right through the stomach. I grin. If that doesn't get their attention, what will?

I sneak a glance at the Gamemakers, and my happiness deflates like a balloon. They are too busy eating to have even seen that!

I walk over to the archery station and grab the lightest bow and quiver I can find. I pull the arrow across the bow and aim at the mannequins. The arrow targets the arm. Not too shabby, but not too good, either.

I don't have time to lose. I grab the bow and arrows and some knives, jog towards one of the trees and begin to climb it, gingerly placing one foot on one branch, steadying myself, and then quickly climbing higher and higher.

When I'm high enough, I turn the knives around in my hand for a second before throwing them at the moving targets. It's a huge risk, but it's one that I'm willing to take right now. The height is an advantage, because the knife goes right throw the target's head. The second one misses the heart by a few inches, but still lodges itself at the chest.

A few of the Gamemakers let out 'oohs' and 'aahs' as I shoot arrows at the stationary targets, at the mannequins on the ground and through a bulls-eye on the other side of the room.

Then I quickly jump down the tree. I expect them to dismiss me, but when they don't, I set the weapons down and move over to the edible plants station. I switch on the screen and play the poisonous/edible plants game, giving myself a millisecond before deciding whether a plant is deadly or not. I come across the nightlock berries that the girl Fauna told me about, and I'm relieved when I categorise it as poisonous and my score comes up as ninety percent for my speed and answers. Fauna could have easily scored a hundred, but it's good enough for me.

I look up at the Gamemakers, breathing deeply. After all that, I'm exhausted. I'm pleased to see that only a few of them are busy admiring a roast pig on the banquet table. The rest are all standing up, craning their necks to look at my performance.

I don't know what else I can do, so I take a bow again. "Thank you," I say, and a few of them applaud politely.

"Thank you," says a stylish man with a very fake-looking French beard. I think I recognise him as the Head Gamemaker this year. "You may leave now, Miss Undersee."

I walk out of the gymnasium, a skip in my step. The evaluation went so much better than I'd expected!

My parents, Haymitch and Peeta were right. I'm not just a silly girl from District 12. I'm stronger than I look.

A high score is certainly going to grab the audience's attention enough to make them notice my attempts at a rebellion.

But it will definitely make me the target of the Careers. Is that a risk I'm willing to take?

Absolutely.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I'm so sorry for not updating a single chapter for the past ten days! But I'm going to post more often from now on, don't worry. I hope everyone likes this chapter! :)**

**Chapter Nine**

After dinner, we make our way to the sitting room to watch the scores announced on television. I'm not sure how much I expect, but I do know that I did a good job – Peeta, Effie, Cinna and even Haymitch assure me that I've done my best.

"You don't need to be nervous," Peeta tells me when he catches me wiping my sweaty palms on my pants. "I'm the one who's supposed to freak out. All I did was throw heavy things here and there until they dismissed me. I threw a few spears and used the sword a little bit, too, but they didn't seem very impressed by that."

"Why not?" asks Haymitch curiously.

Peeta fidgets. "Well... to tell you the truth, most of them weren't paying any attention to me. They were all eating and," looking away from Haymitch, he adds, "drinking."

"Same here," I agree. "Towards the end of my performance some of them started to notice, but I bet hardly anyone saw my knife-throwing in the beginning."

Portia and Cinna shake their heads sadly. "That's just unfair," Cinna exclaims. "It's not your fault you had to go last. It's their duty to pay attention to you!"

"Yes," chimes in Effie, to my surprise, "just because you come from District 12 is no excuse to ignore you!"

We all smile at her, but then she looks around uneasily, a little suspiciously, and adds, "I'm sorry, but that's what I think."

Peeta and I exchange glances and I start to feel sorry for Effie. Does she really think the Capitol is going to punish her for saying _that_? It's as if they, the rich and the stylish, have even less freedom than the poor back home. I would never want to live in the Capitol. I never could.

The programme begins with the Capitol anthem, and even Haymitch straightens in his seat and stops drinking to watch.

First a picture of the tribute is shown, along with their name, and then their score is flashed below it.

All the Career tributes get scores in the eight-to-ten range. That is expected, but I still cry out in frustration when the girl from 1, Glimmer, receives a Career score. "Her aim is terrible! How could they give her an eight?"

Peeta laughs.

The average score so far is four to six. Fauna, the fox-faced girl who helped me with the plants, gets a five, as well.

Five isn't that low – it's neither here nor there, but I feel like she deserves so much more! That girl is extremely intelligent and well-trained in the survival skills. Maybe she deliberately lowered her score to appear weak. Some tributes, and even victors, have done that in the past.

The giant from District 11 gets a ten. Everybody gasps. It's extremely rare for any tribute from an outlying district to get a score that high.

His girl companion, Rue, gets a seven. All of us clap appreciatively, except Peeta, who suddenly goes rigid. It's his turn next.

I reach out and give his hand a small squeeze. He turns to me and smiles. I expect him to pull his hand away but he doesn't.

Then they are flashing Peeta's name and picture on the screen. And then his score. Eight!

"Peeta, that's amazing!" I shout. Haymitch claps him on the back and Effie squeals in delight. "Wait," says Cinna quickly, "it's Madge's turn," and everyone immediately goes silent.

My stomach contracts as my picture replaces Peeta's. Oh, I hope they didn't hate me! I hope they were watching! I hope they liked my skills! Peeta grips my arm tightly, and I silently thank him.

Then a number flashes under my name: Nine.

The room erupts with cheers and shouts. "Amazing! Absolutely amazing!" Haymitch is nodding vigorously and giving us wide smiles.

"Oh, we're going to be the talk of the town!" cheers Effie. "We must have some champagne. We must!" She bustles away to call an attendant.

Cinna and Portia take turns hugging us, and I hug them back earnestly. If it weren't for them, we would be nowhere.

Peeta turns to me and grins. "We did it," he announces happily. "Nothing else to worry about." And then he realises what he just said, and his smile fades. "I'm – I'm going back to my room," he mumbles, walking away.

"Peeta," I start to say, and Portia tries to stop him, too, but he just shakes his head as he leaves.

"Celebration time!" trills Effie when she returns. A Capitol attendant accompanies her. He carries a tray with six glasses and a bottle of champagne.

"Where did Peeta go?" she asks. "Back to his room," Haymitch answers gruffly. "He just remembered he's in the Hunger Games."

Laughter bubbles in my throat, but I force my mouth shut. I don't even know why I find that funny. Maybe because the only other option is to be terrified, and I can't afford to be scared. Not now.

Effie glares at him. "At least the five of us are here. Come on, let's have a toast!" She hands us all a glass of champagne. I examine my glass carefully. It's a bubbly, golden-coloured liquid. I've never tasted this drink before.

"To the boy and girl on fire!"

"To the boy and girl on fire," we repeat, drinking. Haymitch empties his glass in one go and demands a refill. Cinna eyes him cautiously before passing him the bottle.

Somehow I know he isn't celebrating. If anything, he's worried. But about what?

I try to finish my share of drinks quickly and leave, but then Effie looks at me happily and asks for chocolate covered strawberries. Of course I have to stay put then. She's smart, luring me with my favourite fruit and flavour combination.

An entire hour later, my head is somewhat spinning and all I can taste is chocolate. But I've finally been excused. Instead of going straight to my room, I make one stop.

I knock quickly on Peeta's door. "Peeta? It's me."

There's no response from the other side. I frown. Knocking again, I add, "It's Madge. I just want to talk to you. Could you open the door?"

I hear the sound of his footsteps approaching the door, and I smile gratefully. But still the door remains closed. "Peeta?" I call out again. Now I can see his shadow; I can tell that there's only that wooden wall separating us, but maybe he just wants to be left alone.

So I put on my most cheerful voice and say, "See you at breakfast, okay? Good night!"

I linger near the doorway, hoping that he'll at least answer back with a 'Night, Madge!' but all I can hear is silence.

* * *

Surprisingly, the air around the breakfast table is tense this morning. Peeta mumbles a faint 'good morning' to me and Haymitch when he walks inside, but apart from that, we don't talk at all. Even Effie's attempts at cheering us up fail.

"Tomorrow night we have the interviews," she exclaims, making one last attempt as she rises to get some more salad. "Haymitch, why don't we talk to them about it?"

Haymitch grunts. He takes a swig of his flask and turns to me and Peeta. "Yes. The interviews."

The interviews are mandatorily broadcast throughout Panem. It's a chance for the audience, and the sponsors, to get to know their darling tributes before their deaths. But of course we can't be allowed to use our own minds to answer the questions, because we're just poor children from the districts! Instead, our mentors will coach us on how to present ourselves to the viewers.

"What are we doing?" I ask, shovelling some stew in my mouth. The food is absolutely delicious today. I'm hoping it brightens Peeta's mood, as it has mine.

"Well," Haymitch says, sighing. "Effie and I have been talking," he nods in her direction, and she gives us a weak smile, "and there's been a slight change of plans about our current approach."

The look on their faces makes me push away my food. Dread is filling me up. If even Effie looks uncomfortable, then something must definitely be wrong.

"What change of plans?" asks Peeta.

"And what _is_ our current approach, anyway?" I add. "I thought we were just hiding our talents from the other tributes. Why change that?"

"Not that," mumbles Haymitch. "Look, sweetheart," he says, exhaling deeply, "I think it would be a better idea if you two are coached separately."

His words nearly knock the wind out of me. Being coached separately is the last thing I'd expected. Why? Peeta and I are a team; we've been presented that way ever since the reaping! Why is he trying to change that now?

"May I ask why?" I say in the politest way I can manage. But I can feel a muscle tensing in my forehead.

"I have a few strategies for your interviews, and it would be better if it were kept a secret from the other tribute."

"Haymitch, it doesn't work that way!" argues Peeta angrily. He slams a fist on the table and adds, "Madge and I are friends. All this while you've been telling us to maintain that image and now suddenly you want to shatter it?"

"That's not what he means," Effie says quickly, trying to look calm. "There's no shattering of any image. It would just be easier to coach you two separately for the interviews. You'll still be shown as a team to the viewers. Just give him a chance, children."

"Why keep our strategies secret from each other?" I ask. Effie makes sense, somewhat, but that doesn't mean I'm not furious. "He and I know everything about each other!"

"Yeah," says Peeta, backing me up.

Haymitch exchanges a glance with Effie, smirks, and with his eyes on me he says, "Not... _everything_."

We stare at each other for a second, his lips drawn in a grin, my muscles twitching, and then finally I stand up and cover my face with my hands. "Fine," I say finally. "Alright. We're coached separately."

"What just happened?" asks Peeta anxiously, but I wave him away. "Nothing. We have to follow his instructions, don't we? He's our mentor, after all."

"Alright, so here's how it works," explains Haymitch, ignoring Peeta's curious gaze. "You'll each have four hours with Effie for presentation and four with me for content. Peeta, you start with me first. Madge, you're with Effie. We'll switch after lunch."

I'm relieved that I get Effie first, because there's no way I can talk to Haymitch right now without exploding. Is he really going to use his knowledge of my feelings to blackmail me? What could he possibly want to accomplish by separating us? Talking to him about my crush on Peeta was a big mistake.

I wonder if he plans to tell Peeta how I feel during their coaching. I hope not.

* * *

In my room, Effie dresses me in a full-length gown and four-inch high heeled shoes and makes me walk around the room with my shoulders straight back and my head held high. I'm worried that she'll put some books on my head and teach me balancing. My mother tried to teach me that once. Saying that I failed is an understatement.

The high heels aren't too bad, because it was always a guilty pleasure for me to try on Mom's shoes as a kid, but the dress keeps getting in the way of the shoes.

"How about this," says Effie, when I almost trip again, "as you're walking, you kick the hem of the dress with your shoe. Very gently, of course, we don't want it to be showing. That way, the length doesn't interfere with your walking. Alright?"

We practise the kick-walk method for another half hour and then we move to sitting. That is one thing I am good at, because I'm used to sitting straight and keeping my head raised when talking to Dad's official friends.

"Very good, very good," Effie encourages me. "Maintain eye contact at all times. Now let's try saying things and smiling, shall we?"

"Sure," I sigh.

I keep a smile plastered to my face at all times as I say random phrases. "Yes, Effie and Haymitch have taken such good care of us!" "I love curtains!" "Mahogany is perfection!" "You're a wonderful host!"

"Now say 'All this beauty, all this luxury... the Capitol is like a God to me!'"

"I'm not saying that!" I exclaim quickly, rising to my feet. "Effie, I don't mind lying to a certain extent, but the Capitol is not a God! In fact, it is a disg–"

"Madge Undersee!" Effie stands up too, and her voice is so loud and her demeanour so strict that I immediately shut my mouth. "You will do as I say, you will say what I say, and you will understand that these interviews are about making a good impression on not just your district friends, but the sponsors as well. And the richest sponsors are always from the Capitol, so behave! Just because your father is the Mayor of your district doesn't mean you can disrespect your nation!"

The part about my father stings, and I find tears in my eyes. So I force myself to apologise to her, even though I really don't want to. But Effie is right. I can't afford to lose sponsors right now. I need to stay alive in the games enough to make an impact. "Sorry," I say. "I lost control."

"Don't lose it next time," she orders sternly. Taking a deep breath, she adds, "Well, I think we're done here, then. It's all about good manners, Madge. Don't forget."

"Let's just go to lunch," I say, frowning. I take off the dress and shoes, put on my normal clothes and decide to spend the next hour ignoring Haymitch and Effie.

"How was your time with Effie?" Peeta asks me when I sit down next to him. "Or are we not allowed to talk about it?" he adds in a raised voice. Effie glares at him. "As long as it's nothing specific, you can talk."

"It was fine," I tell him honestly. "Mostly just playing dress-up. Nothing too bad. What about you and Haymitch?"

Haymitch clears his throat. "We were talking about his strategy," he announces to nobody in particular. "And I doubt it would impress _you_, Madge."

"Shut up, Haymitch," Peeta shoots back, turning the deepest shade of scarlet. After that, he only opens his mouth to eat, and the trend follows suit. No one speaks.

* * *

"Alright, Haymitch, what did you tell Peeta about me?" I point a finger at my mentor accusatorily. "I don't care if it's a secret. If it's about me, I should know!"

"I don't agree, sweetheart." He makes himself comfortable on the couch in the sitting room. "Let's talk about you, though." He examines me for a moment, fuming at him, and adds, "Get rid of this anger soon. Effie and I have decided to present you as an innocent girl from District 12 who just loves how wonderful the Capitol is!"

"No!" I say. "Let's just keep it innocent. None of this... Capitol business."

He sighs. "She told me you were angry about that. But you're the mayor's daughter. You've got to keep his reputation. These Games aren't just about you, Madge. Bad-mouthing the Capitol will get you and your family nowhere in life. Alright?"

I sit down in the chair facing him and nod. "Alright. But only because you pulled the family card. I'm still mad at you, though."

"I don't blame you for that," he answers. "But before we begin the coaching, there's something else I want to tell you."

"What?" I ask curiously. "Is it about Peeta?"

"Don't get so obsessed, Madge. It's not about him."

"Then what is it?"

"This morning before breakfast, I spoke to the mentors from the Career districts," says Haymitch slowly. He takes his time, weighing each word in his head before saying it.

"Why would you do that?" I ask faintly. "Are they trying to target you now?"

Haymitch shakes his head sadly. "Not exactly. They, uh... they wanted you as an ally. Specifically, the boy from District 2 did."

"What?" I look at him in disbelief. "Why would they want me as an ally?"

"I know you tried to appear mediocre in the training room, but they were, frankly speaking, very impressed. At first they looked at you as a target, but once you got that nine... they decided that they wanted you."

"No! I don't want them! But... what did Peeta say when you told him?" I ask curiously. "Is this why you wanted to separate us? In case one of us wanted an alliance with them and the other didn't?"

"They didn't ask for Peeta," replies Haymitch, shrugging. "Just you!"

"No," I repeat again. "Not even if Peeta were with me. There's no way I'm joining the Careers and –"

"I already refused on your behalf." Now he smiles, and adds, "You remind me a lot of your aunt, you know. Maysilee. She was loyal, just like you."

All my anger towards him disappears when I hear the name of my aunt. I grin. "Were you two close?"

Haymitch shrugs. He starts to speak, but then stops to take a sip of his drink. Then he says, "As close as two allies from the same district can be, I suppose. We never really talked before the Games. And after..." he sighs, finishing his drink in one big gulp. "But I was with her during her last moments. I held her hand. Said goodbye... I think she and I could have been friends if I'd taken the chance to get to know her before it all happened."

I pat his shoulder awkwardly. "You're very loyal too, Haymitch."

He laughs. "Now, you don't need to cheer me up. Let's get on with your training, shall we?"

For the next three hours, Haymitch interviews me. He asks all sorts of questions and expects me to give all sorts of answers. Then he picks the best one and tells me to use it for my real interview. He asks some Capitol-related questions, too, and I'm tempted to answer back viciously. But then I remember Effie's strict warnings, and I do my best to maintain the 'innocent beauty' act.

Finally, Haymitch stands up. "Well, I think you're going to do well tomorrow. Just remember that Caesar Flickerman will ask you why you volunteered. Give him the answer we worked on and nothing else. Alright?"

"Okay," I mumble. I'm supposed to say that Katniss is my best friend and that I couldn't bear to see her volunteer for her sister, so I did instead. I have to say that Primrose and I are very close (even though we actually aren't); she's almost like a sister to me, so of course I had to take her place.

Haymitch doesn't know the truth, so I let it slide. But if Caesar Flickerman, the interviewer, does spring in this question, I'll have to modify it so I can please the Capitol and also spark a rebellion. The only problem is that those two things are so far apart that I have no idea how I'll manage to pull it off.

* * *

Everyone's spirits are raised during dinner. Cinna and Portia don't join us again. When I ask about their disappearance, Effie tells me that they're busy making last-minute adjustments to our interview outfits, and that they'll eat in their rooms afterwards.

"You're going to love your dress," Effie gushes. "Cinna let me take a peek. Oh, you are going to look so lovely tomorrow! You'll have a very easy time convincing everyone what an innocent beauty you are."

If Effie loves it, then there must be something wrong with it. But I trust Cinna. He won't make me wear anything too Capital couture.

I am about to reply when I realise that she just revealed my strategy in front of Peeta. This means that they aren't worried about _my_ interview; they're worried about _his_.

"Are we still doing the girl-and-boy-on-fire thing?" Peeta asks as he eats dinner.

Haymitch nods. "Somewhat, yes. Don't worry, you two won't be in any danger of burning up tomorrow. Just focus on your interviews and what you have to say. Everything will go well." He addresses Peeta as he says the last bit.

Peeta nods. "I hope so." He looks nervous and a little green. I wonder what his strategy is. It must be something difficult to pull off, if he's this scared about it!

"You'll be fine, relax," Haymitch says kindly. Effie nods at him.

"It can't be that bad," I say, as an attempt to comfort him. "You're so charming with everyone, Peeta. You won't have any trouble with the crowd."

"That's really not what I'm worried about," he explains. "It's... never mind."

"What is it, and why won't you tell me?" I persist. "Haymitch, come on! I don't like being the only one left in the dark."

"Don't be so curious, sweetheart," says Haymitch. "You might not even like what you hear. Let's leave it at that, shall we?"

I immediately jump to all the worst conclusions. Maybe the Careers want Peeta, too, and maybe he said yes to them. Or maybe he has allied with Thresh, the boy from District 11 instead of me.

But the look in Haymitch's eye tells me it's something... entertaining. And are my eyes deceiving me, or does Effie look like she's fighting back a giggle?

I guess I'll find out tomorrow.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

My prep team and Cinna are the ones to wake me up on the morning of the interviews. They are going to spend the entire day with me to make me look presentable on screen. My makeup is going to be natural so that I look the part of the 'innocent beauty'.

"Ah, limp hair. We meet again," says Flavius with a sigh as he rinses my hair with fruit-flavoured shampoo.

"Are you going to curl my hair this time, too?" I ask Cinna as he stands by the mirror, watching the trio work their magic.

He nods. "But more glamorous and sophisticated, too. I know Haymitch wants you to look innocent and girly, but I think our girl on fire ought to have some edge. Don't you agree?"

I turn to look at him and smile, but Octavia yanks my head back. "Look straight ahead! I don't want anything to ruin your hairstyle, Madge!"

Then they get to work, curling my hair with larger barrels, weaving golden thread into the crown of my head.

Flavius and Venia stencil my arms with fiery patterns as Octavia does my makeup. She doesn't hesitate to use kohl to outline my eyes, although my lips are simply coated with a pretty pink gloss. It is difficult to keep from blinking as she attaches fake eyelashes to my lids. The eyelashes have gold accents on them, because they catch the light and glitter.

Finally, they paint flame designs on my manicured nails and coat my body with shimmery dust.

I look around for Cinna but he is nowhere to be seen. Then he appears by the doorway, holding a covered dress. "Close your eyes," he orders. I begrudgingly agree and take off my robe.

I grip Venia's hands as my team helps me into the dress. It must weigh at least forty pounds; it feels so heavy! I stumble as I slip into the heels that they've brought out for me. Not too high, so I won't have a problem walking in them. All I'm worried about is the dress tripping me.

Then I open my eyes, and all tension is erased from my mind. All I can do is look at the beautiful woman standing before me, my beautiful reflection in the mirror. I do not look like the mayor's daughter from District 12, nor do I look like a clown from the Capital.

I look like a creature of light from another world; I look like the daughter of the sun. My dress... oh, what a dress! It is a beautiful red dress that is entirely covered in precious gems that reflect light. Red, yellow, and a blue that complements my eyes.

My blonde hair is swept off my face and my tresses sparkles due to the gold threads. My makeup is trendy and innocent at the same time.

"Cinna," I whisper, "I – it's so – I just –"

"Twirl for us, girl on fire," he says with a smile. So I do.

The prep team screams in admiration at the beauty that is engulfed in flames before them. If I didn't know better, I'd think that I've been set on fire again, even though it is just the magic dance of the jewels.

"You're going to be the prettiest tribute there ever was!" Venia exclaims, giving my hair a tousle before exiting the room with the rest of the prep team.

"Alright," Cinna tells me after we're the only two left in my room. "Let's practise walking around, shall we? Effie tells me you had some trouble with long gowns."

Surprisingly, I don't even have to employ the kick-walk method that Effie taught me. The dress is fitted at the top but cascades down my hips such that it stays out of my way as I walk. The heels, too, are as comfortable as my mother's back home.

"Ready for the interview?" he asks when I sit down on my bed. He doesn't look worried, which is a good sign. Haymitch must have told him that there was no reason to fear.

"I guess," I say. "I've never had any trouble with people, but... Cinna, I don't _want_ to talk to these people. This interviewer, the audience... they don't really care about me."

He sighs. "Then imagine you're talking to a friend. What about Peeta? You get along with him very well. Why not imagine that you're talking to him?"

"He knows almost everything about me," I remind Cinna. "It won't feel real."

"Peeta wouldn't mind listening to those things for a second time," says Cinna. He tucks a stray hair behind my ear and adds, "Everybody adores you. Peeta, our team, Haymitch, Effie... the audience will be no different."

"If you say so," I mumble.

Cinna starts to usher me towards the door. Just before we leave, he turns and says, "Innocence is good. But spirit is far more important. Don't pretend to be someone you're not, Madge. No matter what you feel, no matter what you think, don't hide it for the sake of your image. Speak your mind, and nothing will go wrong. Okay?"

"Okay," I answer. Haymitch and Effie wouldn't agree, but I'd rather believe Cinna. I trust him. If he thinks it's alright to be myself, then it must be.

* * *

The rest of our District 12 team are waiting by the elevators. Portia stands there with Peeta. Cinna approaches her and they start talking about the interviews, so I move towards him.

His prep team has done an incredible job. Peeta looks very handsome. He's dressed in a black suit with flame accents around the collar and sleeves. His hair is pushed back, though, and he looks stiffer than he should. I look around, and when I'm sure that Portia is distracted, I run my hands through his hair and mess it up a little.

"You look better this way," I tell him when he raises an eyebrow, laughing.

He sniffs the air around him for a moment, and then adds, "Why do you smell like fruit?"

"New shampoo that Flavius wanted to try out," I say. "Supposed to give volume to my hair. As for you," I add, leaning in to smell him, "You smell like roses. What happened to the baker's scent?"

"The baker's scent?" he says. "Sadly, my prep team doused me with rose water to make my body shine... or something."

"Mine doused me with sparkling dust. At least it worked! But I'm surprised we're not dressed identically again," I say teasingly. "You look good in a suit, but... I think you'd look simply fiery in a dress like mine."

Peeta shakes his head, looking terrified at the prospect. "No thanks. I'll leave the job of looking fiery up to you. You look amazing, by the way. The girl on fire. Really, you look beautiful." He smiles. "I bet no one's going to care what you say as long as they can stare at you."

"I hope that happens," I reply, trying to hide my blush, "because I have no idea what's going to come out of my mouth."

"You two will be fine," Haymitch assures us. He's dressed in a black suit, his hair is combed, and his face is clean shaven. I don't think I've ever seen him this dressed up.

"You look fancy," I say, grinning. "Did you get your own prep team?"

"Borrowed yours," he shoots back.

Effie, too, looks beautiful. Even though she still swears by the Capital couture, I see some reflective gems in her geometric dress. Her curly blonde hair falls down to her hips instead of being piled up on top of her head. I wonder if this is her natural hair; it's gorgeous. Her eyes, lined with glittery silver, sparkle just like mine.

"I wanted us to have the same look," she explains when I ask. "We're a team."

"Effie!" I beam at her. Peeta nudges me, and I turn to see Haymitch staring at Effie with his eyebrows raised and his mouth agape. When he notices me looking, he clears his throat, mumbles, "I guess miracles do happen," and walks into the open elevator.

Peeta and I burst out laughing.

"Well, I never!" exclaims Effie, looking embarrassed. "Maybe my pink wig would suit me better. Excuse me, children, I'll see you after the interviews. Good luck!" She bustles off towards the living quarters.

"Are you two coming, or what?" asks Haymitch from the elevator. Peeta, the stylists and I join him.

We walk out of the elevator and find the other tributes being lined up to take the stage. All throughout the interviews, we'll be sitting in a big arc. Just like in training, the tributes are called in order of districts. The only difference is that this time the girl tribute will go first.

Haymitch gives us a big thumbs-up as we start to walk forwards to take our places. The moment we step onto the stage, the crowd goes crazy. The shouts and screams take over my mind and I stumble on my dress as I move towards my seat. Peeta takes my hand in his and steadies me, and I thank him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the blonde girl from District 1 shoot us a glare.

Once we take our seats, I let out a huge sigh of relief. Hopefully no one saw me trip, because even with the blinding lights, it's hard to see anything except the spotlight, which is currently focused on Caesar Flickerman, the host of the show.

He has been hosting the interviews for over four decades now, but his appearance has been the same throughout. A crazy Capitol wig, clown makeup, and a twinkling midnight blue suit.

As he addresses the crowd, I look around. We're in the City Circle. Elevated seating has been arranged for prestigious guests like the stylists. I find Cinna in the crowd and give him a small wave. He returns it earnestly.

One balcony to the right is claimed by the Gamemakers, and the rest are full of television crews.

But the entire City Circle is consumed by the citizens of the Capitol. There is no room to sit but it is still packed. Those who couldn't make it here are no doubt tuning in on their television screens. Even in the districts, interviews are mandatory for viewing. My parents, Katniss and Gale, Peeta's parents... everyone will see us live on screen tonight.

The interviews begin. The girl from 1, Glimmer, is up first. She's the one with the bad aim, the one who was glaring at us just now.

But her anger must be directed only towards us, because now she is grinning and blowing kisses at the audience, and they are yearning for them. Dressed provocatively in a see-through gold gown, with flowing blonde hair just like mine, she's a hit with the Capitol.

Caesar asks her a couple of questions about her home, about her training score and what she loves most about the Capitol. She answers each question with a giggle and a bounce of her hair.

"I hate her so much," I whisper to Peeta, who's sitting right next to me. He nods back and adds, "She's a beauty _and_ a beast."

It stings me when he calls her a 'beauty', but I know he's right. She's extremely attractive, but at the same time she's poisonous. It would be difficult to not loathe her. I look around at the tributes and find the other two Career girls glaring at her. Clearly, she's not very popular with the girl tributes.

Glimmer's three minutes are up, and a buzzer sounds. Caesar kisses her hand and calls the next tribute.

On and on it goes. I barely listen to any of the interviews, although I can't help but pay attention when the boy from 2 sits down next to Caesar. Cato. If I remember correctly, he's the one who wanted me to join the Career alliance.

It doesn't seem like he needs any help in the arena, though, apart from sponsors. He is gigantic, vicious and ready to fight. That's exactly what he tells Caesar, who applauds him for his bravery.

Fauna, from District 5, is sly and elusive. She looks pretty in a light blue strapless dress, her hair tied up in a bun. But she evades most of Caesar's questions and tries not to look at the audience at all. When Caesar asks her what skill she's best at, she answers quietly, "I find that I can apply myself at the situation at hand and work out a solution immediately."

I wonder why she doesn't just say, "I'm smart."

By now my hands are starting to sweat. I try to wipe them on my dress but it isn't absorbent. Great; that's the one flaw in this beautiful gown!

Every tribute has something interesting to offer. Glimmer is sexy, the girl from 2 is daring, and the crippled boy from District 10 is kind and funny. What about me? What use is innocence?

Rue, the twelve-year-old from 11, takes the stage, and I gasp involuntarily. I'm not the only one, though. The entire crowd is mesmerised at the sight of this fairy. She's dressed in a gossamer gown with wings and a little tiara on her head. She looks so adorable, so gentle.

Caesar very sweetly compliments her seven in training, and she graciously accepts. Again, he asks her what her greatest strength will be in the arena. She doesn't hesitate as she softly says, "I'm very hard to catch. And if they can't catch me, they can't kill me. So don't count me out."

The crowd applauds and Caesar assures her that he won't count her out. But all I can think is that she just said the word 'kill'. That is a word I would never want to associate with her. Or anyone sitting on this stage, not even Glimmer.

Maybe even Thresh, from District 11, is furious about the Capitol, because he only gives Caesar one word answers. Although he's so scary and strong that he doesn't need to say anything; he'll get sponsors either way.

And then my name is called.

"Let's have a big round of applause for Madge Undersee, the girl on fire!" screams Caesar.

Peeta smiles encouragingly at me as I stand up and make my way to the centre of the stage. I don't stumble this time, but I am extremely aware of the dryness in my mouth and throat, and the moisture in my palms.

I shake the host's hand and sit down next to him. He grins at me and asks, "Madge! The Capitol must be quite a change from District 12, even for the mayor's daughter. What's impressed you most since you arrived here?"

I can't think of anything as his words bounce around in my head. What has impressed me the most? A lot of things. But why is my mind so blank?

"That's a tough one," I finally find myself saying, even though I've actually thought of an answer, "because there are too many things that have impressed me, Caesar."

He chuckles. "Hahaha! I know that must be true. But come on, Madge. What's the one thing you really enjoyed during your short stay here?"

"Honestly?" I ask nervously. When he nods, I continue, "This is a little embarrassing, but... I think I spent most of my free time in the shower. The shampoos, the soaps... it was heaven!"

"The shower!" Caesar bursts into peals of laughter, and the audience joins him. "Oh, Madge! Well, good to know that you like our showers. Can you keep a secret, though? The chocolate body scrub? My personal favourite."

"Wow, that's mine, too!" I exclaim.

Caesar laughs again. Then, shaking his head, he asks, "Enough of this... shower talk. Let's talk about the opening ceremonies. Madge, when you came out on that chariot... my heart stopped! What did you think of that costume?"

I turn back and look towards Peeta. He grins at me. "Actually, Peeta and I were both worried we'd burn to death," I say. A big laugh from the crowd urges me forward. "Seriously! But really, I thought it was the hottest outfit I had ever seen – quite literally! Cinna's a genius."

"He surely is," Caesar agrees.

"Look at this one!" I press on. I stand up, lift my skirt and spin in a circle. The audience bursts into cheer and applause. In the background, Caesar screams, "Oh, I love that! I just love that!"

When I finally stop and sit down again, Caesar nods approvingly. "That was amazing, Madge Undersee. Simply spectacular. Your stylist is indeed a genius."

"Isn't he?"

"Also, congratulations on your training score. A nine! Very impressive."

"Thank you," I tell him, grinning broadly. Again ushering towards the tributes, I add, "I'll let you in on a secret, Caesar. A lot of my fellow friends here thought the same." At this, I turn and smile in the Career's direction. They stare at me in anger and mild shock.

"That comes as no surprise to me," replies Caesar. "Now, something we all want to know about... the reaping. Oh, Madge! What do I say? What do I say?"

I snap back towards him, my glee quickly fading and turning to anger. Finally, he has come to the point. The reaping. I find Haymitch in the crowd, nodding at me. He wants me to play the innocent card.

"You volunteered for that girl in the reaping. May I ask who that was, and why you took her place?"

"Her name is Primrose. She's my best friend Katniss' sister," I tell him. "She... she's only twelve years old. A real innocent beauty. And I just couldn't bear to see her in the Games, Caesar!"

"Because she's so close to your heart?" asks Caesar. The crowd is silent now, hanging onto every single word of mine.

"Yes and no," I reply. "Yes, because I would be heartbroken if she had to take part in the Games. And no, because... I like to think that I would have done it for anyone."

Caesar looks momentarily confused. "For anyone? What do you mean?"

I take a few moments to gather my thoughts. Then, taking a deep breath, I say, in the coldest voice I can muster, "My father, the mayor, does all in his power to safeguard the future of our district. I want to follow in his footsteps. I want to bring glory to my district. But most of all, I want to keep my citizens happy and healthy."

For a few seconds, there is pin-drop silence. Haymitch looks at the crowd nervously. He's not sure what to make of this statement.

And then the audience breaks into earth-shattering applause, and he nods at me slowly.

"I think your father must be very proud of you," says Caesar, shaking my hand once again, "as are we." The buzzer sounds, and he adds, "Best of luck, Madge Undersee! Let's move on to the next and final tribute!"

I take my seat in the arc just as Peeta walks over to Caesar. If I was amusing, Peeta is downright hilarious. From the very moment that he sits down, he has the crowd's attention and their love.

First he and Caesar discuss the different tributes and their similarities to their district bread. Then, when Caesar asks him what he thinks of the Capitol, Peeta pauses for a moment. Then he says, "Well... not to contradict Madge, but... the showers here are weird!"

"Weird?" shouts Caesar in mock fury. "How are they weird, Peeta?"

"Well, do I smell like roses to you?" he asks. He beckons Caesar forward, and they take turns sniffing at each other. The crowd is laughing and cheering, and so am I. Peeta is so good with people and he doesn't even realise it.

"You ought to take a leaf from dear Madge's book, Peeta," the host finally says, concluding the arguments about the showers. Then he clears his throat and adds, "So, Peeta. Tell me. Is there a special girl back home?"

My insides contract the moment I hear his words. Oh, thank goodness I wasn't asked a question like that! I can't even imagine how I would evade it.

Then Peeta hesitates, and shakes his head unconvincingly. Even I can figure out that there's something he's hiding. Clearly, he likes someone. Katniss, maybe?

"I don't believe it for a second!" says Caesar, shaking his head firmly. "Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?"

Peeta sighs. Finally, he says, "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her for... for a while now, I suppose. But after the reapings, I've just lost my chances with her."

The crowd groans in sympathy. Of course, they can relate to him. We all can. I sigh and bite my lip. I wonder if he's going to say her name. Would he, on live television? I wonder what Katniss would think. Worse, what would Gale think?

"Don't say that! Here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" says Caesar excitedly. He looks at the crowd for support, and they scream approvingly.

Peeta shakes his head almost angrily. He looks agitated. "You don't understand," he says, looking miserable. "It's not going to work out. It can't. Winning... won't help in my case."

I sit up straighter and look at the back of Peeta's head curiously. What does he mean? Does he know about Gale and Katniss?

"Why ever not?" asks Caesar curiously.

The whole crowd sucks in a breath as he stammers in reply, "Because... because... she came here with me."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Caesar Flickerman gasps out loud. Several of the tributes look up in surprise. The crowd goes silent first, and then erupts with cries and shouts.

But none of that compares to the emotions racing through my head.

The cameras hold onto Peeta's lowered eyes and his small frown for a few seconds, and then immediately turn to record my reaction. I see myself on every screen, magnified a hundred times, my eyes wide and my mouth even wider. But the happiness – and shock – on my face is unmistakeable.

"Peeta," I whisper as I look away from my image slowly, the smile refusing to ease its way out of my face. "Oh, Peeta..."

He feels the same way about me! Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread, my friend, my crush, my everything... he likes me back! And he has, for a while! How can this be? Part of me wonders if this is a dream. If it is, I hope I never wake up!

"Oh, that is a piece of bad luck," says Caesar painfully. The crowd is murmuring in agreement, and each one of them has a sad look on their faces.

Then my eyes fall on one face in the crowd that isn't upset or even surprised – Haymitch Abernathy. Instead, he's smirking. I watch as he discreetly gives a thumbs-up in Peeta's direction.

"It's not good," agrees Peeta, his eyes flashing towards Haymitch once. He sighs dramatically, and the illusion in my mind shatters.

So he doesn't really mean what he said. It's Haymitch's strategy. Haymitch, the one person who knows the truth, has used my feelings to Peeta's advantage. He has told Peeta to say these words, to express his love, when in fact there's clearly nothing.

Haymitch Abernathy. No wonder we were coached separately!

"Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be difficult not to fall for that beauty," says Caesar. "She didn't know?"

The cameras swivel back in my direction. Now the happy beauty has vanished; she has been replaced by a shocked Madge who is trying her best to blink back tears.

"Not until now," says Peeta with a shake of his head. He appears on-screen again and I see his face contort into a relieved smile for just a second before he lowers his head.

"Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" Caesar calls out to the audience, which screams its assent. "Sadly, rules are rules, and Madge Undersee's time has been spent. Well," he turns to Peeta, "best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with you."

As Peeta stands up, the crowd goes wild. Roaring, applauding, some even crying... now nobody seems to care how ferocious Cato is or how attractive Glimmer is. All they can think about now is the lovelorn boy and his unfortunate love story.

"Thank you," chokes out Peeta, looking as though he's suppressing a sob. I want to glare at him, I want to shout at him, I want to scream at him, but as he makes his way back to his seat next to mine, I instinctively look away. I don't want Peeta to see my tears. I don't want him to ask me if I'm fine, because I will not be able to lie to him.

We stand for the anthem and raise our heads out of respect. Every camera now has a shot of Peeta and me, side by side, my eyes damp and his breaths heavy. Ironic how we're separated by just a few feet, but we will never be 'together' in the real sense.

Haymitch Abernathy. What a genius.

After the anthem, the tributes file back into the lobby and towards the elevators. Peeta is right behind me. I know I can't avoid him forever, so I just stop and turn around to face him.

"Hey," he says softly, his eyebrows furrowed. "Are you okay?"

"Why – why do you ask that?" I say, my voice breaking a little. I clear my throat quickly.

"You're... crying."

"Oh, that?" I force myself to chuckle. Folding my arms around my chest, I say, "I was acting! You should see me at home. Mr. Farina, the maid and I used to put up a variety of one-act plays every Sunday. I've been acting since I was a kid!"

I don't feel so bad about lying because most of it is true. The maid loved writing, so we would act out her plays in front of the whole family. The doctors said it could really reduce my mother's stress and therefore her migraines, so Dad always encouraged us.

"Really?" asks Peeta in disbelief. "Wow, you're good... but how did you know about our strategy? How did you know what I'd say? Did Haymitch tell you?"

"Did I what?" comes a voice. Haymitch, the man of the moment, steps in to give Peeta a hug. "You were wonderful out there, boy. You convinced everyone. Everyone!" Then, turning to me, he smiles. "Sweetheart, I couldn't have asked for a better performance. That was some phenomenal acting." But his smile doesn't reach all the way up to his eyes.

Just to make him feel even guiltier, I say with mock amusement, "Well, I learnt from the best."

Effie shakes her head sadly and sighs. "Oh, you two moved me to tears, even though I knew! I bet there will be people fighting to sponsor my star-crossed lovers."

"Star-crossed lovers?" I repeat, glaring at Haymitch. "Haymitch, you –"

"It's alright." Peeta shrugs. Cinna and Portia approach us, so he pushes the elevator button. "It won't be too bad, Madge. If it means a chance to get out of the Games alive... well, we should do it." He smiles at me, and I return the favour unwillingly.

* * *

After dinner, everybody returns to the sitting room to watch the replay of the interviews. I don't want to relive _that_ nightmare, so I stay in my room even though Effie's already called for me twice. I am about to get up from my bed to take a shower when a loud knock sounds on my door.

"I'm not feeling too good," I call out. "Go ahead without me!" The knocking stops, but the door shoves open anyway. Haymitch enters, looking annoyed.

"Why are you being so difficult, Madge?" he exclaims wearily.

"Get out of my room, Haymitch."

"No." He shakes his head furiously. "You listen to me first. I know what you're thinking."

"Oh, you do?" I laugh sarcastically as I pull the covers over me again. "Tell me, Haymitch. What am I thinking?"

Haymitch looks uncomfortable for a few seconds. Then he says, "You think I betrayed you, lied to you... used your feelings to help you in the Games... you're angry. And it was justified for a while. But –"

"For a while? Are you kidding me, Haymitch?" I finally get out of bed and stand up to face him. He towers over me, but the vicious look on my face scares him. "Do you find this amusing? This whole 'star-crossed lovers' routine? I never meant for Peeta to know about my crush, but now you've gone ahead and paraded it in front of everyone, including him. And you're making him play along. And not just that," I say louder, when he attempts to stop me, "he doesn't even know the truth. He's pretending, and he thinks I am, too."

Tears are flowing down my cheeks now but I make no attempt to wipe them.

"So what?" sighs Haymitch when I'm done. Then he looks at me and backs away. "Whoa. Don't cry, sweetheart... I just – look, this is going to get you sponsors. I wanted to make you win, so I did this. Alright?"

"I don't want to win the stupid Games!" I shout angrily. I point a finger at him accusatorily. "I want to make a difference, even if I die trying. You want to save someone, save Peeta."

Haymitch throws his hands into the air and scoffs. "What do you think I'm trying to do? You're both a part of this act. You both get the attention, you both get the sponsors."

I pause to take in his words. I remember what Effie said. The audience lapped it up; the sponsors will be lining up to help us. Peeta can be saved.

"So what do you want me to do?" I say finally.

"Stay in love with that boy," says Haymitch, "and don't count yourself out. You're not a martyr. Don't pretend otherwise."

"Haymitch, I can do what I –" I start to argue, but he grabs my arm and adds tersely, "I'm not going to let you die. I couldn't save your aunt... I couldn't save Maysilee... I'm not going to make the same mistake again." He turns away and adds roughly, "I need a drink. You better be outside in two minutes."

"Please, Haymitch!" The urgency in my voice makes him stop at the door. "What?" he asks. I notice that he still isn't looking at me.

"Please, save him over me. I know you want to do something for my aunt... but if I live and he dies, I'll be miserable. I'll end up like my mother. She still gets nightmares about my aunt's death, Haymitch! Every single night! I'd rather pick death over a life like that. Please, Haymitch... save him. Not me."

Haymitch walks swiftly towards me. "Fine," he murmurs. "I'll try my best. You, wash your face. There's snot everywhere and you look like a dead slug when you cry."

Even though he just insulted me, I chuckle. Wiping my tears with the back of my hand, I say, "Thank you, Haymitch. You're a good guy."

"You're a good kid." He smiles weakly. "Peeta would be lucky to have you."

That just makes me want to cry more, so I quickly usher him out of my room. I spend the next ten minutes washing up, tying my hair in a ponytail and practising my fake-smile in the bathroom mirror. Finally, I walk to the sitting room.

District 7's interviews are being replayed when I sit down next to Peeta. "Where were you?" he asks warmly.

"It took me ages to get all that makeup out," I lie. "I still have some liner around my eyes that I couldn't take care of."

My eyes fall on Cinna, and I hope he doesn't contradict me. He gave me a set of makeup wipes that had done the job in five minutes. Now he simply nods at me and then exchanges a look with Haymitch.

Great. He knows, too. I wonder who _doesn't._

After what seems like ages, I am on the television screen. As I laugh, gesture towards Peeta and the tributes, and spin around in a fiery circle, my team applauds.

"I would have preferred it if you'd stuck to the 'I love my best friend and her sister' routine," Haymitch tells me, "but I suppose the 'responsible Mayor's daughter' act works, too."

"It's not an act," I shoot at him firmly.

"I loved the way you referred to Peeta during your interview," gushes Effie as she takes a sip of her martini. "It's so believable, your romance... the way you hugged him at the reaping, your rapport, your chemistry... we couldn't have asked for a better couple."

I blush. Peeta thanks her and adds, "You were very charming, Madge. But why did you look towards the Careers?" he asks, looking pointedly at the screen.

Haymitch starts to explain, but I cut in. "No reason."

His interview starts, so we all turn our attention to the screen again. I'm glad for the distraction. Peeta is funny, attractive and, after his declaration, utterly engaging. They cut to my reaction occasionally, and everyone applauds my 'acting'.

"Amazing how your happiness turned to sorrow once you remembered your unfortunate situation," remarks Portia, looking impressed.

Well, I guess she doesn't know.

Once the show ends, we all fall silent. The excitement over the interviews is over. Tomorrow we will wake up at dawn and be prepared for the arena. Tomorrow, the Hunger Games begin. I don't know where the arena is or what it will resemble – it could be anything, from a frozen mountain to a burning desert – but tonight might be my last night. It might be Peeta's last night.

Our stylists will travel with us all the way to the launch pad, but Haymitch and Effie will move to the Game Headquarters and spend every minute trying to get us sponsors, working out strategies to keep us alive.

Effie hugs both of us in turn, tears in her eyes, and says, "I've been so lucky to have tributes like you. It's truly been a privilege to work with you." And then she wipes a tear, giggles, and says, "Who knows? Next year I might finally be promoted to a decent district!"

The old Madge would have been offended. But the new one has grown attached to her escort.

So I hug her back and thank her for being so sweet and nice to us.

Effie whimpers and, overcome with emotion, races out of the room. Haymitch starts towards her, but then focuses on us. "Good luck," he says firmly.

"Any final words of advice?" asks Peeta.

"When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there. You're neither of you up to the blood bath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water. Got it?"

"No," I simply say. "If there are supplies, or weapons, near to me, I'm getting them. I think Peeta should do the same."

Haymitch stares at me. I can tell that he's about to burst, so I press on. "I'm not saying that we should run to the centre of the Cornucopia. But if there's anything within a few metres of us, we should take the risk. It'll help in the long run."

Peeta shrugs. "I think she's right, Haymitch."

Our mentor studies me for a moment. Then he nods. "Fine, but only if it's close enough. And after that... stay alive."

Peeta and I exchange looks. This is what Haymitch told us on the train ride, but now it seems apt. He's right, after all. There's nothing else to do in the Games but stay alive.

As we start to leave towards our rooms, Haymitch stops me and grips me by the shoulders. "You," he whispers, because Peeta is close by, "take my advice. Stay alive. At least try. Will you do that for me?"

I nod. "Good." He releases his grip on me and, grabbing a bottle of scotch, leaves the room.

Peeta and I walk towards our rooms in silence. Both of us know what's coming. We will have to say our goodbyes, and then we might never see each other again. One of us might be dead within the next twenty-four hours.

"I guess this is –" he starts, but I shake my head. "Not here. Let's talk on the roof. I can't fall asleep this early anyway."

"Okay," he says.

* * *

Once we're on the roof, I lead the way towards the quiet garden where I'd spoken to Haymitch. There seems to be a parade on the streets tonight, so there's no way for the Capitol to hear a word of our conversation. Good; I don't want my last words with Peeta to be monitored by anyone.

"This would be a good place to kill yourself," I find myself whispering. I gesture towards the edge. We're so high up that death would be instantaneous. "You could just fall over, break your neck and die. No need to play the Games, no need to kill anyone, no need to..." My voice trails off.

"No," says Peeta. He walks forward and extends his arm. A second later, a zap sounds and he pulls it away as if he's received an electric shock. "There's a force field. You couldn't jump if you wanted to. Cinna showed me the first day here."

I laugh softly. "No freedom even in death. Welcome to Panem."

Peeta looks around in alarm. Then, realising how loud our environment is, he relaxes. "I can't believe I'm here," he finally says. "In the Games, I mean."

"I know," I murmur. "I always knew it could happen, but... I never thought it really would." My mind goes back to the day of the reaping. When I changed my mind, decided not to volunteer. And then I saw the sheer terror on Prim's face, the desperation in Katniss' voice as she struggled to reach her sister.

Now I know I had no other choice. There is no way I wouldn't be here.

"I hope it's quick," he says worriedly. "My death."

"Don't say that!" I exclaim angrily. He looks at me in shock. Lowering my voice, I say, "You could win the Games if you wanted to. You're strong, brave, charming. Who wouldn't sponsor you? Don't be so negative."

"Still," he says. "If it happens... well... I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not."

"So you're not going to kill anyone either?" I ask. I have been wondering the same about myself. If, in the face of danger, I have to save myself by killing someone, will I be able to do it?

"No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else." He shrugs. "I can't go down without a fight."

He's being realistic. I would probably do the same thing.

"Only I just keep wishing I could think of a way to – to show the Capitol that they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games. If... if I'm going to die, I want to still be me." His eyes meet mine.

Suddenly I find the courage to say, "If I'm going to die... I want to start a rebellion."

Peeta jumps. "What?" he shouts. We both freeze. That was too loud, loud enough for anyone to hear over the noise of the crowd. So Peeta forces a laugh out of his mouth, as if he's amused, not shocked.

Still smiling, he whispers, "Madge, are you crazy? There's no way you can do that. It's dangerous, and you shouldn't be thinking that way." His eyes show the terror he feels.

"Peeta, I –"

"Wait." He frowns at me. "Is this why you volunteered for Prim? I can't believe this! No wonder you said you'd do it for anyone!"

"I don't expect you to understand. But I'm going to do my best, whether I live or die. And I'd prefer if we don't talk about death anymore. I'm... I'm not comfortable talking about it."

"Okay," he says softly. He looks uncomfortable, too. "Hey," he adds, rather nervously, "we are allies, right? In the arena?"

"Of course," I assure him. At the same time, I'm relieved. "We're in this together."

"The star-crossed lovers." He chuckles faintly, and I feel my stomach twist. "We'll find each other. Just... get out of the blood bath alive. Please." His voice cracks at the last word, and I realise that this is his way of saying goodbye.

"We'll find each other," I repeat. Slowly I walk forwards and wrap my arms around him. He does the same.

We stay that way for some time, breathing in each other's scents and whispering, "We'll be okay," again and again, as if that will somehow make it happen. Finally, we break apart. He nods at me and says, "I'll see you tomorrow. Night, Madge."

"Night," I say. As he starts to leave, panic fills me up. We might say that we'll see each other, but it probably won't happen. One of us could die. We might never be able to find each other in the vast arena.

Peeta might die without ever knowing how much I care about him.

That thought is the one that causes me to blurt out, "Wait!"

He stops, and asks, "Yeah?"

"I lied to you," I tell him slowly. "Haymitch didn't mention a word of your strategy to me. I had no idea what you were going to say during the interview."

Peeta starts towards me, looking confused. "He didn't? Then how did you manage to –"

"My reaction was real."

Strangely, I feel suffocated even though I'm standing on the airy rooftop. So I push past him and rush down the stairs, ignoring his shouts of "Madge! Madge, wait!"

I don't stop until I'm inside the safety of my bedroom. And then I cry.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: The Games have finally begun! Things are going to get very exciting, friends.**

**Also, Philip Seymour Hoffman, who played Plutarch Heavensbee in Catching Fire, passed away yesterday. May his soul rest in peace. :'(**

**Chapter Twelve**

I wake up silently screaming. I am bathed in sweat. For a moment I wonder why I feel so distraught on a simple morning, and then I remember that the Games are beginning today.

My mind wanders to the memories of last night. I had heard footsteps approaching my bedroom door as I cried myself to sleep. But maybe Peeta had taken pity on me and decided not to approach me.

Now, as my bedroom door clicks open and Cinna walks in with a simple robe in his arms, I wonder if Peeta and I will still be allies in the arena after I told him the truth about my feelings. If he wants to stay alive – which he probably does – he will continue to play up the lovers' act. But we will not have a chance to talk about last night ever again.

I wear the robe and Cinna guides me to the roof, where a hovercraft is waiting in the air for us. A ladder drops down. I place my hands and feet on the rungs and suddenly I'm frozen. I can't move an inch of my body and nor can I turn my head. I'm lifted into the hovercraft, but I am still not released. A woman in a white coat walks briskly towards me, carrying a syringe. My eyes, the only part of me that can still move, widen in fright at the sight of her and the big needle in her hands.

"Relax," she says as she inserts the needle into the skin inside my forearm. I mentally scream out from the pain. "The stiller you are, the more efficiently I can place your tracker."

The ladder releases me as soon as the tracker is in place. I examine my forearm quickly. There's a hard lump where the tracker has been placed. Now the Gamemakers will be able to spot me in every part of the arena. How much they care for us!

No freedom even in death. Welcome to the Hunger Games.

The woman in the coat walks away and Cinna takes her place instead. An attendant directs us to another room where we are served breakfast. Although my last meal feels like it had been eaten days ago, I'm still not hungry.

"Eat," Cinna instructs me. "You'll need your energy for the arena." I nod at him and quickly shovel food onto my plate. Cereal, milk, fruits. But when I lower them into my mouth, they all taste like cardboard.

I enjoy looking at the view outside the windows, because it helps to calm the churning in my stomach, and then suddenly we are engulfed in darkness. I look to Cinna in confusion.

"We must be near the arena," he says quietly.

Then the hovercraft lands and we are sent down to an underground chamber that must lie beneath the arena. We are taken to the Launch room, where I will be prepared until I have to go up to fight in the Games. No two tributes use the same Launch room. New ones are designed every year for all twenty-four tributes. It disgusts me that our government has money for this entertainment, but not for the starving families back home.

Even though I want to spend all of eternity in the shower, I finish cleaning up in less than five minutes. Still dressed in the robe, Cinna pulls my hair back into a ponytail. Then our tribute uniforms arrive. Each one of us will wear the same outfit. Cinna has no idea what will be inside this package, so we open it together and I get dressed. Plain undergarments, simple tan pants, a green shirt, a belt and a long hooded black jacket. Cinna runs his hands over the clothing and says, "The material in the jacket is designed to reflect body heat. Except some cool nights."

My boots look like the ones I use back home. Just as comfortable, possibly more expensive, they will be good for running and hunting.

Cinna looks at my outfit for a moment before pulling something out of his pocket. My mockingjay pin.

"My token!" I exclaim. "I'd almost forgotten about it. Did it pass the tests?"

"Just barely," he tells me. "Some people on the review board thought the pin could be used as a weapon, giving you an unfair advantage. But then they let it through. Not all tokens were cleared, though. The girl from one, her ring was eliminated. If you twisted the gemstone, a spike popped out. A poisoned one. She claimed she had no knowledge the ring transformed and there was no way to prove she did. But she lost her token."

"I bet she knew," I spit out. "Poisoned ring. Just like her."

Cinna shakes his head as he smiles slightly. He pins the mockingjay onto my shirt. "Alright, you're all set. Move around and make sure everything feels comfortable."

I jog a little around the room, aim a few kicks and punches in the air and stretch my limbs to check my flexibility. Everything works well. "Perfect."

"Then there's nothing to do but wait for the call," Cinna says. "Unless you think you could eat any more?"

I start to decline, but then I agree. I take sips of water and eat pieces of apple as we wait on the couch. I don't want to eat any more in case I get nervous and throw it all up, but I still want myself to stay hydrated and healthy for the next twenty four hours.

The next twenty four hours. Will I even be alive till then? Will Peeta? Will I ever see the sunrise or the sunset again?

Cinna must sense my terror, because he puts his arm around my shoulder and squeezes gently. "Hey, Madge, you'll be fine," he assures me. "Do you want to talk?"

"Just one thing," I say, my voice breaking and quivering, "in case he forgets – remind Haymitch that he has to help Peeta. Not me. Peeta."

Cinna exhales deeply and nods. "Fine, if I see him, I'll tell him. But don't lose hope, girl on fire. You still have to ignite your spark."

Then a pleasant voice announces that it's time to prepare for launch. I wince.

"You'll be fine," Cinna repeats as I stand on the circular metal plate that will carry me into the arena. "Just run, find water. Don't go too far into the Cornucopia. And remember this... I'm not allowed to bet. But if I could, my money would be on you."

"Thank you," I whisper, even though I know his money would be in vain. I'm not coming back from this arena alive. Not if I can start a rebellion. Not if the Capitol can help it.

He leans down and kisses me on the forehead. "Good luck, girl on fire." And then a glass cylinder lowers around me, creating a barrier between me and my stylist. I cry out for him, but he just gives me an encouraging smile. He taps two fingers under his chin and mouths, "Head high."

I nod feverishly and keep my head and my body straight as the cylinder begins to rise. All I can hear now is the beating of my chest and the ringing in my ears. And then the darkness gives way to sunshine as the metal plate pushes out into the open air. Bright sunlight blinds me as I squint around at me. Green. Trees. Forests. Home.

Then the voice of the announcer, Claudius Templesmith, booms all around me. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

The screen in front of me shows the countdown. Sixty seconds to go. No tribute can step off even a second before the minute is up, otherwise the mines underneath the metal plates will blow their legs off.

Fifty seconds.

My eyes scan the circle of tributes around the giant Cornucopia. Peeta's about five tributes away from me. Our eyes meet, and he nods towards the Cornucopia. I nod back, and this time I scan my surroundings. To my right lies a lake. Fresh water. But to my left are the woods, where there will surely be more water, food, a safe place to sleep in. This is where I have to go.

Then I see something in front of me. Just a few feet ahead of me is a three-foot square of plastic. Maybe I could use it to protect myself in a downpour. But then, around eight feet ahead lies a bundle of knives.

Weapons, this close to a tribute! All the other weapons I can see are at the mouth of the Cornucopia, along with tent packs and backpacks and food. They must have kept it close to me so I could use it. It must be meant for me!

Thirty seconds.

But the girl from 2 is standing right next to me. She throws knives, too, but her eyes are only on the bounty of the Cornucopia. She probably hasn't even noticed the knives lying in front of us.

My head tells me to grab the plastic and the knives and run into the woods. I want to go further in and grab a backpack, but how am I supposed to fight off twenty other tributes? No, I should be happy with this much, and I should run to the forest immediately.

Twenty seconds.

I urgently look towards Peeta again. His eyes are on a green backpack lying in between him and another tribute – the crippled boy. He's contemplating whether to get it or not. _Get it, I shout to him in my head. Get it, and run to the forests. Look up, Peeta! Get to the woods! Peeta! Look at me, Peeta! Please!_

Ten seconds.

He's still not looking up. I curse myself. What if he moves towards the lake instead, to find water? I'm sure the Careers will head there next, and instead of me finding him, they'll find him. How will I keep him safe?

I give up and turn my eyes back to the knives just as the gong sounds. It's time. I race forwards, scoop up the plastic and shove it in my pocket with one hand as the other hand grabs the packet of knives. I look back for just a second to see if the girl from 2 is after me, but she has already run to the front of the Cornucopia. I cringe as I see splashes of red all around me. I spot a loaf of bread and I grab it. Then, without turning back, I run into the woods as fast as I can.

I don't stop running until I'm sure that I'm away from the other tributes. Then I pause, sit down next to a tree and take a look at my surroundings. The tall trees will hide me from predators. I can sleep high up on a branch at night. I don't see any other animals, but there must be some. And they need water to survive. So there must be water in the woods. I just have to look carefully.

So I keep walking downhill, with my ears and eyes wide open in case there are any tributes close by. As I walk, I take the knives out of the pack and stow them underneath my belt, from where I will be able to pull them out and throw them at targets easily. The bread and the plastic are safe in my jacket pocket. I don't plan on eating the bread until I'm absolutely starving, because who knows when I'll next find food?

But only because I miss the boy with the bread, I take it out and take a long sniff. It smells exactly like him, like flour and a hint of cinnamon, and for a moment I'm so overcome with emotions for the boy that I loudly choke out his name. Then I remember that I must be absolutely quiet in here, so I continue walking.

I walk and walk for hours, but there's still no sign of water. Here and there I see new species of trees, berry bushes and flashes of white fur. I stop to collect some blackberries, make sure that they're not poisonous, and pop them in my mouth as I continue my journey. The juicy berries help to keep me hydrated, but as the day turns to mid afternoon I find myself panting. I can't go on without water for so long. I'm not hungry and I'm not sleepy, but I am so thirsty that I finish all the berries immediately and lick my hands to get all the juice into my mouth.

Back home, I could spend the entire day with Katniss and Gale in the woods, but we always had water on hand.

I hear a sound in the bushes nearby and I instinctively turn, a hand on my knives. It's only a rabbit. Smiling to myself, I throw my weapon and the rabbit is dead before it can even turn in my direction. There won't be any dearth of food in the arena, I suppose.

As I take the dead rabbit in my hands, I wonder if I'm on television right now. The bloodbath at the Cornucopia must have ended, so the Gamemakers would be focusing on the individual tributes now. The audience would have seen my talents with the knife. Good.

Then I hear the cannons. One for each fallen tribute. Because of the goriness that is the bloodbath, the initial deaths are tallied only after it's all over. Pausing, I count the shots. One, two, three... and on and on until eleven. Eleven dead in about six hours. Thirteen left to fight.

I hope Peeta is part of the thirteen. I hope he's in the woods right now, looking for water. I hope we find each other when we find fresh water. I hope he –

I hear the cracking of a twig behind me and I know it's too loud to be an animal. It must be a tribute. I turn and my knife is about to fly out of my hands when I see who it is. Fauna, the fox-like girl from District 5. The girl who taught me about the poisonous nightlock berries.

For a second we take in each other. My right hand, raised, as if to strike, with a dead rabbit slinging from my left hand. Her arms raised in surrender, two backpacks sturdily tied around her back with a rope. She looks just as exhausted as I feel, but scared, too.

Then, as if simultaneously, our arms drop. I pull the knife into my belt again and walk towards her.

"Allies?" I ask.

Fauna stares at me, blinking a little in confusion. Then her lips part into a wide smile as she says, "Yes."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Fauna and I sit down near the bushes to take a look at our supplies. I show her the bread, the plastic and my knives, and she looks impressed. But my collection is nothing compared to her pickings. She eagerly unzips the backpacks – one neon green, the other a faded brown - to show me their contents. Two sleeping bags that reflect body heat, a pack of crackers and dried beef strips, two loaves of bread, a bottle of iodine, wooden matches, some wire, sunglasses... and a plastic bottle.

I grab the bottle and uncork it hastily. But no water awaits me. "It's dry," Fauna says sadly. "But we could use it to collect water... if we find any." She sighs, and adds, "The second backpack had some rope. We can use it to tie the packs to our bodies... we don't want to be separated from them."

Awed, I ask her, "How did you... how did you managed to come out of the bloodbath, unscathed, with two backpacks?"

She shrugs like it's no big deal. "I'm fast. Had my eye on these two since the moment I entered the arena. I was out of there before anyone could notice me. Besides, even if they did, they don't think of me as a target. I brushed past a tribute on my way to the forest. But he didn't follow me."

"He?" I repeat. "Did you get a look at him? Was it the boy from my district?"

As she fills the backpacks up with the contents again, Fauna scrunches up her eyes and thinks for a while. "I'm not sure," she finally says. "I think I saw a flash of blonde hair, but I can't be too sure. Why aren't you allies with him, anyway?"

"I'm supposed to, but... I couldn't find him."

Fauna chuckles. "Really, Madge? Didn't you and your boyfriend work out a signal?"

I feel offended and also a little stupid. A signal! Peeta and I should have known that it wouldn't be easy to find each other in this vast arena. We should have decided on a signal. But we didn't... and now I probably won't see him ever again.

Fauna must sense my discomfort, because she adds, "At least the boy's alive."

I nod glumly. "That's if it really was him."

"You know, now I'm quite sure it was him," she tells me, probably for my benefit. I know she's trying to make me feel better, so I decide to play along. "Okay," I tell her, standing up. "Peeta's alive. We'll find him. For now, let's divide our supplies. Do you have any weapons?"

She shakes her head. "No. That's the one thing the packs didn't have." So I hand her two of the knives from my belt, and she cuts a part of the rope off so I can tie one pack to my back.

"We should keep moving; we need water," says Fauna as she walks ahead. "You don't think the lake's the only source of water around here, do you?"

I gesture towards the backpack where I stuffed the small white animal. "Remember the rabbit I caught? It gets thirsty, too. There's definitely a source here. We just have to find it."

We keep moving downhill for the next two hours. The sky gets darker and darker, and our throats get drier. I ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach as Fauna coughs behind me. She may not say it, but I know she's getting tired, as am I. Maybe it would be better to take refuge and continue our search for water the next morning.

I stop walking and turn to Fauna. "Let's find a place to settle down for the night. We only have a few hours of sunlight left, anyway."

She gulps and nods. "Okay." She looks around for a minute, taking in our surroundings, and says, "How about those bushes?"

"The bushes?" Now it's my turn to chuckle. "Uh, I was thinking we'd be safer up in a tree." I jog towards a medium-sized willow tree and pat the bark. It's rather thin, and will probably not conceal us very well, but it's better than squatting on the ground where a tribute could step on us at any given point in time.

"A tree?!" Fauna looks at me in shock as if I just told her to start dancing. "I'm not falling to my death in the middle of the night, thank you very much."

"You won't fall. We'll use the ropes to secure ourselves."

"That's another nightmare. I won't be able to escape in time if I have to untie knots and jump fifty feet down to the ground. No way."

I sigh. "Are you sure? If someone steps on you –"

"They won't. And if they do, I'll... I'll figure something out. I have a knife, remember?" She holds the knife up for me to see and puts on a brave face. "I just can't climb that tree, and neither do I want to."

"Then it'll just be me up there. Alright, let's eat and call it a night," I say. Not wanting to get started on the rabbit, we finish off the smaller food items first. The salty crackers and the strips of beef only increase our thirst, but at least they stop the rumbling in our stomachs for now. I've never had bread without jam or butter before, so I pass on that and Fauna returns the loaves to her pack.

She wipes her hands on her jacket and says, "Have a good night." Then she dashes off into the bushes like a redheaded blur.

I make my way to the tree and start climbing.

Back home, I was always energised and ready for action, but now I feel drained of energy. It takes me a while to clamber about the branches. Twice I almost falter on my step as I search around for a steady branch. Finally, I make myself comfortable on a thick branch that can support my weight. I am about to tie myself to the tree when I notice a neon green colour in the bushes below. Fauna's backpack.

I have to hand it to her, though. I can see her pack clearly, but she's nowhere to be seen. However, if there are other tributes up here along with me, they might be able to pick her off in the dead of the night.

I make my way down the tree uneasily and whisper for her in the bushes to camouflage her pack. She whispers back an agreement and asks me to see if I can find any water ahead of us, from up in the tree.

This time, I climb as high as I can muster without falling. The sky is a deep blue now, and night time has officially begun. All around me are the sounds of owls hooting, insects chirping and wild animals grunting. But I can see neither them, nor any pool of water. At this rate, Fauna and I will be dead in two days.

I unzip my pack and take out the sleeping bag, but after cozying into the bag and my jacket, I am shivering in the cold night air. The Gamemakers will have deliberately reduced the temperatures to bring tributes closer to death. A groan escapes my mouth and I see mist accompanying it. I always had two blankets to myself in the safety of my house. Now there is nothing.

I am tying myself to the branch and settling in for the night just as the anthem begins. The seal of the Capitol is clearly visible in the night sky, and then the photographs of the fallen tributes are projected in front of me.

I brace myself for Peeta's face, reminding myself that it is possible that Fauna might have seen someone else and that he could have died during the bloodbath. No point in ignoring a possibility.

The first face I see is the girl from District 3. So four of the Careers – Glimmer included – are still out there. Not very surprising, because they probably have all the weapons, food and water to their hearts' content, but it stings a little that Glimmer is still alive and kicking.

But one of the Careers – the boy from 4 – is dead, as is Fauna's district partner. I sneak a glance below me to see if I can catch her expression, but I can't even see the neon pack anymore. I don't think she and the boy are – were – close, but it must still hurt to know that her district has already lost one tribute.

Both tributes from 6 and 7, the boy from 8, both from 9 are gone. Ten so far. That means there's only one more face to see.

Thankfully, it isn't Peeta's. No, it's the girl from 10. The Capitol seal returns with a musical flourish, and then the darkness resumes.

Peeta has survived! Thank goodness! I know that it's horrible of me to be happy about his life when so many others have died, but I can't help it. To know that he is out there somewhere, looking for me... that he is staying alive, that Haymitch might have sent him sponsor gifts... for the first time in days, I fall asleep with a contented smile on my face.

* * *

Crack! Snap!

I come to immediately, twitching a little as though I have just awoken from a bad dream. But no, I have awoken _to_ a nightmare. I am in the Hunger Games, separated from Peeta, and there is a tribute directly below me.

Even as I bend my head to look down, I shiver. It is even colder than it was during the anthem, so it must be a few hours past midnight.

The sound isn't coming from far away, but right below my tree. Then the sound suddenly stops. Maybe it was Fauna stepping on a branch accidentally. But then I see a spark, and a small fire starts below me. Some foolish tribute has decided to have a bonfire party in the middle of the night!

The Careers could be somewhere around here, searching the forest for tributes to kill, and this one has just made it easy for them. Three tributes; two on the ground and one up in a tree. I am relatively safer, because they might not see me in the darkness, but what about Fauna? She must be not more than twelve feet away from the fire!

I think about freeing myself from the tree and escaping to a safer place with Fauna, but what if the Careers find us as we're running? Then we'll surely be dead. No, I can't risk getting down. I may not be able to save Fauna but I might be able to save myself.

As I lie in the sleeping bag, shivering, for the next few hours, I regret not running. By now Fauna and I could have easily found another tree, another bush to sleep in! The Careers are nowhere to be seen, and dawn is approaching. The stupid tribute might be able to make it through the night.

Then a loud noise alarms me – and the person below me cries out in alarm as she awakens. It's a girl. Several pairs of feet are approaching her now.

She is pleading with them, and then her screaming is cut off by loud, raucous laughter accompanied by hooting and cheering. A voice shouts, "Twelve down and eleven to go!"

It's a group. An alliance. Must be the Careers. I can't tell, because they might see me if I turn my head towards them. I keep my ears open for any sounds of rustling from Fauna's end, but there's nothing. Did she escape in the night and leave me behind? Or is she just that good at hiding?

The Careers quickly check the girl for supplies, groan when they find nothing, and then the boy from 2, Cato, says, "Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking." Glimmer and the others agree with him, and they start to head away from me. I sigh in relief. They're going. They didn't find Fauna, or even me. They're going...

And then they stop. I see the light from their flashlights bouncing around as they look through the trees on the other side. Fauna's bushes lie ignored only a few feet away from them.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" one of them says.

"I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately."

"Unless she isn't dead."

"She's dead. I stuck her myself," exclaims Cato proudly.

"Then where's the cannon?" taunts someone else.

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done."

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice."

"I said she's dead!" Cato shouts again.

The argument continues for about ten more minutes until finally Cato gives in. "Alright, alright!" he exclaims angrily. "Someone go and check, then!"

"I'll go," announces Glimmer haughtily. She walks towards the now-extinguished fire and examines the girl's dying body. I look down slowly. Since it's only Glimmer, there's less of a chance of her looking up to find me. Then she takes out a bow and an arrow from a sheath and shoots the body from two feet away. I want to snort with laughter. Is she that insecure of her own skills that she has to aim so near to the body?

A cannon sounds, and I cringe. So the girl is finally dead. Glimmer returns to the alliance and says, "Well, now she's dead. Where do we go now?"

"We continue searching, of course," another girl declares. "Find more tributes. I especially want to find those outlying district tributes. 11 and 12." She scoffs. "Especially that giant of a man. And the giggly fire girl."

"Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke," adds Glimmer nastily.

"I want to find her too," Cato says rather angrily. "Nobody insults me and gets away with it."

Grumbling, the Career pack heads out into the deeper sections of the forest, away from me and away from Fauna.

* * *

I lie there in the tree for a few more minutes, wondering how I ever insulted Cato. Not directly, I suppose. I did reject their offer and I sort of poked fun at them during the interview. But I didn't think they thought of me as a target. Especially not when I escaped the bloodbath so easily.

I sit up, untie myself and climb down the tree slowly. The dead girl is still there, and the sight of her body caked with blood is absolutely revolting. If I had had any substantial meal, I would have thrown up by now.

"Fauna?" I say softly. "Fauna?"

I finally hear a rustling from the bushes and she springs up, looking terrified. Her eyes are bloodshot and her hair is full of leaves and dust.

"We have to get out of here," I say in a hushed, hurried tone. "The hovercrafts won't pick this girl up otherwise..." My eyes fall on her backpack, which is still neon-green. "How come I didn't see it from up in the tree?" I ask. "I thought you had camouflaged it."

"I'd need mud for that," she mutters. "And for mud I'd need water. I just placed my sleeping bag over it and hoped that would hide it. Anyway, let's go. I don't want to be here in case they come back."

She looks exhausted, so I ask her how much sleep she had through the night. "None," she tells me sadly. "I was just about to doze off when this girl came in. I spent all night wondering if I should run away or risk it. But with the fire, I was afraid I'd be seen." She bites her lip, which is bleeding slightly. The dehydration, not the mention the nervousness, is taking its toll on her.

Before we leave, Fauna grabs two branches and fashions a walking stick out of them for us. "Best to save our energy if we need to be walking all day," she explains.

We continue our journey.

The audience must be quite pleased with us right now. We escaped the Careers and have food and weapons. Now if only we could find water... we'd be counted as contenders in these games for real.

The sun rises as we hike down the hill. The walking sticks really are helping, and I can't help but be awed at how smart Fauna is. I'm really glad to have her as an ally.

The scenery around us doesn't change. Birds all around, the same trees everywhere, and no sign of any rabbits. The thought of rabbits reminds me how hungry I am. My stomach rumbles loudly, and Fauna pauses to look at me with a sad smile. "I'm rather hungry, too."

We take out the rabbit and I look at it for a few seconds. Then I guiltily say, "I... I don't really know how to gut and clean a rabbit. Back home, my... my cook used to do it."

Fauna smiles. "Lucky for you, I know how to. I really like cooking for my family, so I've become a master at gutting meat."

She grabs the knife and demonstrates how to clean the meat, throwing the head, feet, tail, skin and innards into the bushes. Then she frowns. "We shouldn't eat it raw."

"Rabbit fever," I say, agreeing. I remember our maid telling us about her friend who ate rabbit meat raw and just barely lived to tell the tale.

We decide to start a small fire. I use the matches from my pack and Fauna, who is skilled with nature, quickly gets a fire going. We heat up the rabbit, wrap it up in the plastic I have and extinguish the fire before anyone can notice.

We still have one-fourth of the rabbit inside the pack, but as we walk, thirst starts to overcome us. I can't remember it being this hot before – the sun seems to glare at us from the sky. My lips are chapped and dry and after a while, Fauna and I stop talking, mostly because we can't seem to get any words out of our throats.

We sigh with relief when we find some berry bushes, but they turn out to be nightlock. I think I would cry if I had any water left in my body. Fauna whimpers, and we take breaks every half hour. Night falls and she finds some berryless bushes and I find a tree to sleep in. I can climb only a few feet high before I collapse on a branch, my breaths coming out wheezy.

Let them find me, I think to myself. Death can't be as bad as life is right now, can it?

The anthem tells me that only one tribute died today – the girl from District 8 who was killed by the Careers early this morning. As I cling to the tree, only one thought runs through my mind - tomorrow will add another name to the list of fallen tributes. Madge Undersee.

And then the darkness engulfs me.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Madge! Madge!"

I open my eyes hastily and squint down at the ground, which is only a few feet below me. I didn't have the energy to climb higher last night. Fauna stares up at me, panting. Her voice is raspy and dry as she whispers, "Time to go. Come on."

I nod and untie myself from the branch. When I jump off the tree, pain shoots through my body and I yelp.

"Are you okay?" asks Fauna.

"Fine," I mumble. "Let's go."

But we are both so dehydrated and exhausted that every step we take attempts to finish us. My mouth is so dry that I can barely gulp, and the way Fauna clutches at her head every now and then shows that she is in pain, too.

We grab each other's hands and rely on the walking sticks to move forward. I see flashes of white around me, indicating rabbits, but I'm too worried to hunt now. What if I stop and I can never move again?

Two hours later, Fauna stumbles to the ground, pulling me down with her. I sit up slowly and look at my ally. Clutching her stomach, heaving breathlessly, she seems to be in even worse condition than I am.

"We have to keep moving," she whispers, even as she rests on the ground. "If we stay here, they'll find us. We'll die."

"There's no water," I argue. Weird shapes swirl in front of my eyes, so I simply close them. "Better to stay here and die in peace. I don't think we can go any forward."

Fauna shakes her head and sniffs, blinking back tears. "No, we – we have to go on! We have to!"

I open my eyes to argue, but the moment I do so, a silver parachute drops down from the sky towards us. The sight of this sponsor gift seems to give us a boost of energy. Fauna jumps up and takes out the gift hastily. A water bottle, the exact replica of the one sitting in her backpack right now.

"Did our mentors send us water?" I ask softly. Since we're allies, Haymitch will be working with the mentors from District 5.

"Only one way to know," she says. With a popping sound, Fauna uncorks the bottle and lowers it towards her mouth. But there is nothing to quench her thirst.

"It's empty," she says sadly.

"Empty," I echo. "It's my fault."

"Why?"

"I told my mentor, Haymitch, to help Peeta in the arena instead of me. That's probably why we got a stupid bottle instead of water."

"I guess I chose the wrong ally," smirks Fauna. She yanks on my hand and uses the walking stick to pull us up. "Come on, then."

"What do you mean? We have no water."

Fauna shakes her head happily. "There are two of us. So they sent us another bottle so we could have water on us at all times. Don't you get it, Madge? We must be near a water source! Why else would they send us this?!"

What she's saying seems to make sense. I'm not too sure, because my vision is still foggy and my head still heavy, but I put the new bottle in my pack, find my walking stick on the ground and follow Fauna through the forest.

As we walk, Fauna hands me a loaf of bread from her backpack. "If we eat, it'll distract us from the pain," she explains. Though the bread makes my mouth feel even drier than it was before, I break off a piece and chew and chew until the heavenly aroma of flour floods my senses.

"I miss Peeta," I tell Fauna as I continue chewing. "He is – was – a baker. His loaves tasted so much better... but this bread still reminds me of –" I cough, straining to catch my voice.

"Shhh," Fauna silences me, "it's okay. Save your voice." She coughs and wheezes, too, and after that neither of us speaks for another hour.

Now the sun is beating down upon us and even the walking sticks can't help us. Hunched over and breathless, we again collapse to the ground. This time, Fauna doesn't argue with me. "Fine," she whispers. "Death it is."

I grab the last piece of bread from my pocket and take a huge sniff. "I'll miss you," I whisper to the bread. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you."

As I close my eyes and wait for death, I can't help but wonder what the audience is thinking. Do they find me crazy for talking to bread, or do they understand that my words are meant for Peeta?

Peeta Mellark... I hope he wins the Games. I hope he wins the Games and doesn't hate me for being so crazy about me. I hope he's thinking of me right now. I hope he –

I inhale deeply to control my emotions, and I freeze. Wafting through the air is the scent of lilies. And where there are lilies, there is...

"Water!" I shout, only it comes out as a wheeze. Next to me, Fauna starts. "What?"

"I smell lilies, Fauna! Lilies! Come on!"

Fauna sniffs the air and stands up, too. "I smell it, too!" she exclaims excitedly. Laughing, we use our last bit of energy to jump through the bushes, stumbling through vines and pebbles until we at last fall into a small pond.

"We did it!" I say, giggling madly as I eagerly reach into my backpack for the water bottle. Fauna finds hers, and we both fill our bottles to the brim. I am about to take a sip when she stops me. "We have to purify it first." She adds a few drops of the iodine we found in the packs to each bottle and tells me to wait a half hour before drinking.

"A half hour? I might be dead by then."

"Well, if you drink dirty water, you'll be dead anyway. Let's wash up while we wait."

So I strip down to my underclothes and take my first bath in over forty-eight hours while Fauna camouflages her pack and keeps watch in the process.

The cool water feels like heaven on my body, the same way the hot shower water did during training. There's no soap, so I scrub myself with my hands and massage my scalp as much as I can.

I step out of the pond and get dressed quickly. It's a hot day, so I'll be dry in minutes. I sit down on a big rock next to Fauna. She smiles at me and shows me the neon-green backpack, which is now muddy brown. She has slathered mud and dried leaves all over the pack.

"Great job," I tell her as I attempt to detangle my hair. "You know, I would kill for some shampoo right now."

Fauna laughs. "Kill for some shampoo? Well, you might have to, since we're in the Hunger Games." She slaps me on the shoulder and says, "Ten minutes left. I might as well get washed up, too."

I smile and take in my surroundings for the next ten minutes – birds chirping, the slight breeze, the scent of lilies, the canopy of trees... if I close my eyes, I could be transported to the woods in District 12. Where there are no dangers, no restrictions. Where you can say and do whatever you want, and there's no one to look.

"Come on, Fire Girl," rasps Fauna, tapping me on the head. "Time to drink."

"Sounds like something Haymitch would say," I mumble to myself as I raise my water bottle and clink it with hers.

"To being allies," says Fauna.

"To being _friends_," I correct her, and take a big gulp of the water. A satisfied moan escapes my mouth as I down the whole bottle over the next three minutes. We refill our bottles, wait another half hour, and drink more.

As the sun begins to set, we pack our filled bottles away for the night and decide to sit down and relax for a few hours.

"Alright, tell me about yourself," I say, attempting to make conversation. "You already know a lot about me."

"I do," she says with a grin. "Madge Undersee, the Fire Girl, the mayor's daughter. Handy with a knife, a good person... madly in love with some blonde bread boy."

"His name's Peeta!" I exclaim. Fauna just laughs. "Alright, alright."

"There's nothing much to say about myself," she finally begins. "My full name is Fauna Flintworthy. I don't have too many friends back home, just one at school and two at work. My parents –"

"At work?" I repeat, confused. "Why are you working if you're still in school?"

"Everybody in District 5 has to work five days a week," Fauna explains, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. "Adults must work twelve hours a day, but children only have to finish four hours. I do two in the morning and two in the evening."

"What sort of work do you do?" I ask her.

"Well, we supply energy and power to the whole of Panem. I don't do much. My parents are both power plant supervisors, so statistically speaking, we're better off than most other people in my district, although we could do with some more money every day. But I'm just a maintenance assistant. If something goes wrong, I fix it with the help of my superiors. So yes, I'm quite handy with most machines."

"Wow." I raise my eyebrows in fascination. "The only talent I have is... playing the piano."

"Music." Fauna shrugs. "Never really interested me. It seems quite useless, don't you think?"

"I disagree," I tell her. "It calms you down, brings inner peace, and sounds lovely to the senses. How is that useless?"

"Let's not get into an argument," she says with another shrug of her shoulders. "So how old are you?"

"Sixteen. You?"

"Oh, you seemed younger somehow. I'm fourteen," Fauna tells me.

"And you seemed older. You have two brothers, right? I saw a picture of them during your reaping."

She nods sadly. "Yeah. Twins. They're both younger to me by three years. Next year will be their first reaping. I probably won't even be there to console them if they –" She looks away and sniffs. "Let's talk about something else."

I look up and see that it's almost night time. "Actually, we should get going," I say.

Fauna looks at me and blinks in rapid confusion. I try to ignore the tear falling down her cheek. "Get going? Why?"

Now it's my turn to be confused. "What do you mean? We can't stay here all night long! Near a source of water... there are sure to be tons of tributes passing by through the night. No, we have to find a safe place to sleep in. Plus, we need to hunt tomorrow morning. Better to get a head start now."

Fauna disagrees. "No! I haven't heard a single cannon all day. No one's died today; the audience must be bored. The Gamemakers will think of something fun for us. It's better if we're closer to water, because who knows when we'll be able to return here next?"

We argue for a few more minutes until we reach each other halfway. We decide to find shelter five minutes away from the pond, so in case of an emergency, we'll still be able to return to the pond and find water.

Again, I climb high up on a tree and Fauna hides in a bush for the night. The anthem plays, and as Fauna said, no tributes died today. It surprises me how often she is correct. Since nobody died today, the Gamemakers will have to find some other way to bring us all together.

I snuggle inside my sleeping bag and hope for a peaceful night of sleep.

But of course, I'm not lucky enough to find peace.

* * *

"MADGE!" screams Fauna, rousing me from sleep once again. The moment I wake up, my first instinct is to untie myself from the tree and jump down. As I hastily stuff my sleeping back into the backpack, Fauna rushes towards me. "Do you smell that?" she shouts, her eyes bloodshot.

I nod. Smoke. I'm about to ask her where it's coming from when I get my answer. The tree I was sleeping in just seconds ago catches fire instantly, and as I look around, the entire forest transforms into smoke and flames.

"RUN!" shouts Fauna. Grabbing my hand, she pulls me forwards and we run towards the pond. It's five minutes away, and I think that we can make it, but the smoke engulfing our surroundings is getting thicker and heavier by the second. Fauna pulls her shirt up to cover her face and I do the same.

"Look!" I point towards the distance. Deer, rabbits and dogs swiftly run through the woods towards our pond. Fauna and I try to follow them, but they are too fast for us to catch up to. Tripping and stumbling on roots and branches that weren't there before, Fauna pulls me out of the way just as a flaming branch falls in front of our feet.

"We have to jump over it," I say. "We can't turn back now." We jump over it, our pant legs catching fire, so we pat our legs as we run through this blazing world that only the Gamemakers could have conjured.

Of course Fauna was right. Of course they had to do something to keep the Games fun. But fire? How much more sadistic can they get?

Wheezing and coughing, we find ourselves repeated jumping over burning logs and shoving our way through vines and bushes. The smoke is burning its way into my lungs now, so much that it is difficult to breathe.

"Just a bit more," says Fauna quickly. "Come on!"

And then, right in front of our eyes, is the pond. We exchange relieved glances and take off towards the pond –

Suddenly, the wall of fire ends. But instead, before we can even see them, two large fireballs blast into tree next to us. In an attempt to avoid them, Fauna starts running in a zig-zag pattern and I follow her, but one fireball sears my right arm as I run and I scream out in pain.

Fauna doesn't stop to look back but instead pulls me forward with all her strength until we are right in front of the pond. She shoves me into the water and turns back to look at the surroundings. There are a few deer and rabbits sipping water at this pond, but they take off the moment they spot us. The fireballs are still blasting the area before us, emitting a hiss before making contact with the foliage, but the forest fire seems to have quelled.

"Take off your jacket," Fauna instructs. I have to bite my lip to keep from shouting as she helps me take off my jacket. The portion that covered the right arm has been burnt off entirely, as has the sleeve of my shirt. I want to look at the burn but Fauna slaps my face away. "Don't look, okay? Let me put some water on that." She is trying to maintain a calm voice, but I can tell that the burn must be at least second-degree if she doesn't want me looking at it. She cups some pond water in her hands and splashes it on my wound. I sigh in relief, but scream again as the burning returns.

"Wash your palms," she tells me. I look at my palms and only then do I realise that they are burnt, too. Possibly from putting out the fire in our pants. I dip my palms in the water and, before Fauna can catch me, I look at the wound in my arm.

I almost throw up from the sight of my burnt flesh, searing red with painful blisters on the surface.

"I told you not to look!" exclaims Fauna angrily. She pauses to drink some water out of her bottle, and I do the same. Then she adds, in a trembling voice, "Look, I – I'm not going to lie. I'm a decent cook, and I can hide, but I'm no doctor. I can't – I can't heal this."

She flops down into the water and shakes her head. "I can't. I'm sorry. I can't."

"It's okay," I say, even though we both know it's not. A wound like this can't be healed with just water or even herbs. It needs strong medication that probably isn't even available in the districts. No, we need Capitol medicine. And that can only come from sponsors. And who would want to sponsor me, a girl who has been screaming over a burn wound when she should be thankful that she's alive?

"If we had left this area, like I wanted to, we'd be in a far worse condition," I say, trying to comfort myself, and Fauna, who seems to be in shock at her inability to do anything. I submerge my entire right arm in the water and find some more relief. "Thank God you wanted to stay close by. Otherwise..."

"I think the fire has stopped. At least in this area. The question is... did they stop it because we found water, or because there are tributes nearby? Or both?" asks Fauna.

I shake my head. "I don't know. But we can't just stay here like sitting ducks and wait for someone to find us."

The first ray of sunlight cuts through the trees as daylight sets in. "We should leave," says Fauna softly. "Can you get up?"

I nod at her. The pain in my arm is so severe that I don't want to pull it out of the water, but if I don't, we'll never be able to get out of here. With some help from her, I put on my jacket again and walk out of the pond. Before we enter the fireball zone again, Fauna waits for a few seconds as if assessing the situation, and then she shrugs. "You already got hit. They won't try to blast us again." She pulls her backpack tightly around herself and looks up at a tree. "Hey," she says, addressing me, "do you think you could climb up and look around? Maybe we could spot some tributes and go the other way."

I look at my palms, covered in small blisters, and then at my right arm. Choking out a sob, I shake my head. "I – I don't think so, Fauna..."

Fauna sighs. "So what now? Do we just continue walking and hoping that we stay clear of other tributes?"

"If only we had some medicine..." I look up at the sky and say in a soft voice, "Haymitch... I hope you're helping Peeta survive. If he's hurt, he'll need medicine. But can I get at least a little bit help here too? Please? Just this once, Haymitch. I promise."

"He won't be able to. Giving us that bottle was a grand enough gesture. I doubt we have enough sponsors to afford Capitol medicine," Fauna starts to argue, but I shush her when I see the silver parachute falling down towards me.

"Thank you," I whisper happily, as Fauna takes out the tub of medicine from the parachute. She stops to sniff it. "Medicine indeed," she says with a grin. Quickly she slathers some of it onto the burn on my arm with her fingers, and I gasp as the pain starts to subside.

"This medicine really works!" I exclaim. I stuff two fingers into the tub and massage the contents into my palms. Fauna applies it to her hands, too, and we watch in amazement as our hands turn from an angry red to a soothing pink.

"We have the best sponsors ever!" I say loudly, jumping up and down in joy. I have a sudden urge to sing, but since Fauna is here, I control myself. "Now let's climb that tree," I say to myself.

I find a tall tree than can support my weight whose branches aren't completely burnt off. Handing my backpack to Fauna, I gingerly put my foot on each branch slowly until I'm at least fifty feet high in the air. Then I look around. Behind us is the pond and dense forests. Not a tribute in sight.

In front of us, however... not more than ten minutes away is a blonde boy with a green backpack on his shoulders. He's limping, and his palms look a little bloody, but apart from that, he seems fine. Peeta!

But then I see something about half a kilometre behind him that sends a chill down my spine. I can't be too sure who, but there are two tributes, a boy and a girl, jogging down the road with weapons on their backs.

I get down the tree in a hurry, almost stumbling on my way down. But I don't care. Fauna must see the look on my face because she asks urgently, "What? Who is it?"

"Peeta's about ten minutes from here. But there are two Career tributes behind him – I don't know which ones – and judging by their speed, they'll find him soon. He doesn't know they're behind him, but he's limping, so he won't be able to run when he hears them."

Fauna hands me my backpack and says, "So which way do we run now?"

I shake my head at her. "No, no, no. You stay here and wait. I'm going to go find Peeta and bring him here. Okay? Before the Careers find him."

"Are you crazy?" She laughs hysterically and grabs me by the shoulders. "And what if the two Careers find you? They'll kill you! I'm not letting you go after that boy so you can get yourself killed!"

"Fauna!" I pull myself away from her grasp and take the medicine from her pocket. "Peeta needs this. I'm going to go find him. You'll stay here. Alright?"

"Madge, I'm not going to –"

"Please, Fauna! Stay here. Don't go anywhere. I'll find him. I'll be back. I promise!"

Before she can say anything, I stumble towards the forests ahead and I run. I stow the medicine inside my jacket pocket as I run hastily, not caring that twigs are snapping beneath my feet or that I can still smell smoke in the air. The only thought in my head is that Peeta Mellark is in danger, and I have to save him.

I run for about five minutes, and then I spot a rustling in the bushes. He must be hiding, attempting to camouflage himself. He must have heard my footsteps. Of course he did, I was louder than an elephant!

"Peeta!" I whisper quickly. "Peeta, it's me!"

The rustling stops, and Peeta steps out of the bushes, half-caked in leaves and dirt. "Madge?" he whispers back in a dry voice. "Madge!"

Even though he is muddy and dirty and somewhat bloody, I run forwards to hug the boy. He almost stumbles, and that's when I remember that he is limping. "What happened to your leg?" I ask him quickly, breaking away from the hug.

"Fireball," he answers. "But what about you? Where have you been? I've been looking for you everywhere, I –"

"Shhh!" I motion for him to lower his voice. Handing him the medicine, I say, "Take this and go left. Keep running straight ahead until you come to a pond. Fauna from District 5 – my ally – will be waiting for you there."

"But why are you –" he starts, but then stops when he hears the sound of footsteps behind us.

"Careers," I explain. "I saw them from up in a tree. Peeta, you have to run, okay? Run, and don't look back, and I'll meet you there."

The footsteps are starting to get louder as he shakes his head firmly. "I'm not leaving you anywhere. Either you come with me, or I stay here."

I want to punch him in the face; that's how frustrated I am. If we both run in the same direction, they'll find us. Peeta can't run fast enough with that leg, so he'll be the easier target.

"You go left or I'll punch you in the face, Peeta," I mumble to him angrily. "Don't forget, you're the one who taught me how."

Peeta chuckles weakly. "I've missed you, Madge."

"Run!" I exclaim, as the footsteps suddenly become hurried. They're not too far away. Possibly they've spotted us.

"But –" he starts, so I shove him towards the left and say, "Go! Just go, I'll be right behind you!"

Peeta looks at me once, his blue eyes reflecting his disapproval of my plan, and then he is half tripping, half jogging through the trees.

At that exact moment, the Careers sprint through the path and we see each other. The tributes from District 1. Glimmer and the boy.

"Finally!" shrieks Glimmer excitedly, pulling out an arrow from her quiver. The boy starts towards me when she stops him. "No, let me play with her first," Glimmer insists, her voice breathless and dry. The fire must have taken its toll on the Careers, too.

The boy frowns at her. This momentary distraction is enough for me to take the right fork and run, leading them away from Peeta and away from Fauna. I just hope there aren't any more of the Careers on the hunt right now.

I run in a zig-zag path the way Fauna did early, dodging arrows as Glimmer shoots them at me. There's no way I can outrun them, so I find a tree and start to climb.

But I'm so nervous and terrified that I slip and stumble my way up. Glimmer continues to shoot arrows at me, although her stock must be running low.

"Come on!" shouts the boy. His encouragement must be helping, because one of her arrows narrowly misses my finger and I falter. I step on a creaky branch hurriedly, and it gives way, and I tumble all the way down to the ground, landing on my right shoulder. The impact knocks the breath out of me.

"Finally," says the boy, grinning. "Let me do the honours now." Glimmer glares at him, but steps aside.

I try to sit up, but my right shoulder hurts so much that I can't put any weight on it. I must have sprained it!

"Good riddance, Girl on Fire," the boy exclaims, sprinting towards me to throw the spear.

I close my eyes, taking in one last peaceful breath. So I couldn't do anything rebellious. At least I saved Peeta. And Fauna. But for how long? The Careers will find them next. And then they'll join me, too. In death. At least my friends will be with me. At least Peeta will be with me.

That is all think as I brace myself for the hit that will kill me.


End file.
